


four letters, starts with L

by Hymn



Series: four letters [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, Crack Fic, Crossword Puzzles, M/M, Mention of sex toys, Neighbors AU, POV Lance (Voltron), Pansexual Lance (Voltron), Weird Courtship Rituals, Xeno, absurdity, coffee shop AU, crude language, getting together fic, koli sticks his foot in his mouth, lance you're being creepy pls stop, mentions of depression, o yeah that's right all them aus, really painfully embarrassing situations okay, talk of spanking!, this is all jibberish lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: The longer Lance stared at this guy the more attractive he became. What even. Lance had never really thoughtthat guy is probably strong enough to snap me like a twigin a way that was entirely wistful and also burning with instinctive, ridiculously horny desire, but --I kind of want him to snap me like a twig. He could at least admit it to himself.Except, as soon as the guy got his order he turned and wandered off across the shop, treating Lance to a truly superb view of his ass, and --“I kind of want him to snap me like a twig,” he told Shay, who dropped an entire platter of scones on the floor in response.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> no joke the conception of this fic went _neighbors au - on a space port? or a coffee shop au??? coffee shop college neighbors au lmao - do it do it_ that is literally what is written first thing in my notes. the crack was quick to follow. (sorry for any errors, y'all, this is largely unedited and also entirely absurd, good luck!!)
> 
> for the kolivance au event, day 2

Despite the impressive array of entertainment consoles, Veronica actually had shit taste for games, and Lance didn’t have any funds to fix it with. So, whenever he got bored watching her limited selection of cable back at the apartment, he tended to bother her at work. She was a part-time barista in a little coffee shop across from her college, just like Lance had been back home on Earth, which was sort of hysterical since they were on a space station orbiting the third moon of a planet Lance couldn’t even pronounce the name of. 

Funny how some things were universal constants. 

Also, it wasn’t exactly boredom that had him out of his sister’s apartment at 0900 on a Tuesday morning. But it wasn’t like Lance’s love affair with being in love was anything new, either.

 _God_ , but he felt gross. A night of hard drinking at the little pub two blocks south of the spaceport downtown had done a number on him. Veronica had to unlock the door when he’d fumbled the keycard so badly he’d dropped it, resulting in him cursing far too loudly, bending down to retrieve it, and smacking his head so hard on the door that he’d been in a crumpled heap when she finally opened up, bleary and murderous with interrupted sleep.

“I hate you,” she had said before grabbing him by an ankle and dragging him past her welcome mat.

That had been a meager three hours before his alarm had gone off. At least that time Veronica hadn’t been there to see him fall to a crumpled heap on the floor _again_. Her couch was comfy and all, but pretty narrow. Lance was collecting bruises, and also possibly the deep and abiding ire of whoever Veronica’s downstairs neighbor was.

Still, _worth it_.

Hungover, needing a shower and about three hundred more espressos, Lance slumped on a stool at the bar, near the end where Veronica was wiping down the kitschy little display board for the day’s special. “Do you think he likes the new puzzles?” he asked, squinting warily out from behind his aviators.

“You look like an idiot,” said Veronica. “Take those off. Wait, no --” she decided, when he did. “Put them back on. _Jesus_ , kid. You look terrible. Go home and sleep it off.”

“Can’t,” Lance sighed, wistful. “This is the longest he ever stays, I can’t waste Tuesday mornings.”

Groaning, Veronica slapped Lance in the shoulder with her rag. “You’re a _mess_. If I get fired because _you_ can’t stop staring and he files a complaint for sexual harassment, I’m sending you back to Earth in a barrel.”

“...A barrel?”

Veronica glared mutinously at the far wall. “We got a new shipment of Arjuk beans this morning. I had to roll them in from the loading dock myself.”

Lanced waved her and her misery off. “He wouldn’t,” he told her, turning his lazy, dismissive wave into a reasonably smug, expansive gesture at himself. “Who would complain about having all of _this_ interested in them, huh?”

“Have you even _looked_ at a mirror today?”

“Yes,” Lance said, laying a hand across his chest in wounded dismay. “Yes, actually, I _have_.”

Veronica smirked. “With _out_ the sunglasses on?”

And, all right, Lance would have to concede that point. Honestly, he hadn’t quite dared. Normally he wouldn’t have risked his good looks and meticulous grooming, but he’d gotten an e-mail from his university the other afternoon asking whether he’d be enrolling in any classes for the second summer semester, and --

He’d needed a drink, was all.

“It’s not my fault,” Lance whined, gazing longingly across the coffee shop. “He’s so -- so _big_ , it’s hard to miss him, you know? I can’t _help_ but stare. He’s just -- there’s a whole lot of attractive going on, all right. I mean. Have you seen those faux leather shoulder patches? I can’t even. _I can’t even_.”

“You are so weird,” sighed Veronica.

* * *

It all started when Lance got kicked off of Earth.

Two weeks of FTL travel on an Economy Class Cruiser saw him travel-worn and cranky with what might have been cabin fever, and also the weight of all his troubles still following him around even three galaxies over. “It’s just a year,” said Lance, as soon as Veronica opened the door. “I promise! You lived with me for fourteen wonderful years, Ronnie, surely you can --”

“Don’t call me Ronnie,” Veronica ordered, crossing her arms and barring the way into her apartment.

“ _Veronica_ , then.” 

He knew it was dumb, considering, but he couldn’t help rolling his eyes and huffing. The steely glint of his big sister’s glare from behind the wire frames told him to backpedal, fast. “Dad kicked me out,” he blurted, which hadn’t been what he’d meant to lead off with, but maybe it would help with sympathy points.

“Bull,” she said.

“No, really! He said that if I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do at school maybe I should think bigger -- figure out what I wanted to do with _life_. To go out and sow my wild oats! He pointed at the door and everything.”

This time, it was Veronica who rolled her eyes. But she also sighed and stepped aside, letting Lance in. “Please tell me mom and dad know you left. _Please_ tell me you did not leave without even saying goodbye, you overly dramatic buffoon. No one _kicked you out_ , Lance, oh my god.”

That was true, but that didn’t mean Lance had to admit it, yet.

Veronica’s apartment was nice -- two bedrooms, a small kitchenette, and a living room with a good sized couch and a full array of entertainment systems. A potted plant was wilting in a corner, and there was dust on most of the knick knacks mom kept sending her from home, but overall it was clean, well lived in, and brightly decorated. 

Not bad, Lance thought, dropping his duffel bag onto the floor and kicking back onto the couch with a contented sigh.

Veronica hit him in the back of the head as she passed through, heading for the fridge. “You’re lucky I was home,” she called back, voice muffled. “What would you have done if I was at work or in class, or just -- out?” All of a sudden she yelped, banging an elbow against a shelf and then pulling free all at once, curls everywhere, as she gasped, “What if my _neighbor_ had seen you?!”

“ _Do_ you go out?” Lance mused, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Hey, you have a water stain,” he pointed out. “But really, Ronnie, do you even have _friends_ here, or just colleagues and coworkers? Marco’s been wondering --”

“Shut your face,” Veronica snapped. “Seriously, do you ever plan anything?"

“Sure I do --"

“No, you _don’t_. You could have just shown up and I wouldn’t have been home and then you would have, what? Just sat outside looking like like a sad stray waiting to be brought in?”

Lance raised a single, judgmental eyebrow as she dove back in for a pitcher of what looked like lemonade. “Mom had your schedule, you know. She made sure to book a ticket that would get me in on your day off. Also -- dad cried when I said goodbye. I’m not a _delinquent_ , sis. Or a sad stray, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“ _Mortified_ ,” Veronica mourned, coming back over with two glasses full of what, at first sip, proved very much so not be lemonade. Blegh. “Budge over, brat.” Lance lifted his feet and she slid beneath them with a disgruntled sigh. “This place is close to campus, so there are a lot of post-grads and professors who live here. My neighbor is a tenured professor at my school and in good standing with the Dean. Probably the _last_ person I want to get on the bad side of, okay?”

“Hmm,” Lance grinned, “a professor? Are they hot?”

Veronica slanted him a vicious glare and a tiny, even more vicious smirk. “Drink your fake alien lemonade, young buck. _He_ is very attractive, if that’s your thing.”

“It’s my thing,” Lance jiggled a foot, digging his heel into Veronica’s thigh until she grabbed it, holding him still. “I officially came out last semester -- you should have seen the string of broken hearts, Ronnie, it was epic. I am not just a ladies man, but a -- uh.” He scrunched up his nose, considering the dilemma. “Is there an equivalent?”

“Just go with the gender-neutral heartthrob, then,” Veronica said, voice very dry. “Or maybe just _colossal douche_.”

“Sure,” said Lance easily, and tried another sip of fake alien lemonade. He grimaced. “So -- hot?”

“ _Yes_ , he’s hot. Now, spill the beans, Lancey Lance. What are you really doing here? And don’t say kicked out -- you’ve already shown your hand, and also your parents are also my parents and I _know them_. I can call them up and tell them you’re slandering their good reputation, so...”

Lance groaned, sinking further down on the couch, undrinkable drink balanced precariously on his chest.

“ _Lance_ ,” Veronica warned.

Huffing, Lance closed his eyes, and admitted in grumble murmur, “You _know_ why, Ronnie. I was supposed to graduate this year.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, I _didn’t_ ,” Lance grouched. “Because I’ve managed to collect a whole lot of credits in a whole lot of fields and none of them accumulate to more than a few passing, random minors -- seriously, who even needs a Classical and Ancient Studies degree? I have a minor in _pottery_ , Ronnie. And possibly computer science but don’t quote me on that one.”

“But no major.”

“But no major,” Lance agreed, frowning and opening his eyes. “...That water stain looks kind of like a horse,” he decided. Veronica craned her head back and made a noise of agreement. For a moment, the two of them just sat on the couch quietly, and Lance relaxed. 

_This_ was why he’d come to Veronica. Of all his siblings she was the one who knew how to be quiet with him -- who didn’t look at him, sometimes, like they just didn’t _get_ him. Loved him, but didn’t get him. Veronica got him. 

“I don’t get you,” she said, which obviously ruined everything between them.

Lance said, “You’re no longer my favorite sister.”

“I’m your _only_ sister. And I don’t need to get you, I guess. It’s fine. You can crash here as long as you need to. You’ll figure it out in time, Lance, whatever it is.” Lance felt a warm rush of affection all over again, bright and sincere and utterly relieved. Veronica shook the foot she’d captured earlier, and added, “But if you call me Ronnie one more time you may not get the time to do so. Got it?”

“Aye aye, cap’n,” said Lance.

* * *

Of course, Veronica knew better than to leave Lance idle without an avenue for escape. She made sure to bring him to work the very next day, forcing him to memorize the directions. “It’s a space station,” Lance complained, “not _Russia_. I’m hardly going to get lost. Found your place, didn’t I?”

“Beginner’s luck,” Veronica said, squinting at him suspiciously. 

There wasn’t much to do at the coffee shop except people watch, which was at least a change of pace from the absurdity of Altean dramedies playing late at night on all but one of Veronica’s channels. Insomnia had caught at Lance, or maybe it was just that the ship’s cycle he’d traveled on was off kilter from the station’s. Regardless, he was dragging that first morning, and spent most of his time singing the praises of Shay, the shops other part-time employee, every time she refilled his mug.

“I have never met anyone so beautiful,” he crooned, directly into the liquid gold warming his hands through the cheap ceramic. “Hey, you know. I could probably make you guys custom mugs. I’m wicked with a wheel.”

“Uhm,” said Shay, hesitant to agree to anything that came out of Lance’s mouth without first checking in with Veronica.

Smart of her, really.

Lance stuck his tongue out at his sister, who patted Shay’s blocky hand consolingly and told her to continue ignoring every single thing that came out of Lance’s mouth forever and ever. “Rude,” said Lance, sniffing. “See if I ever darken your doorway, again! You can kiss my patronage goodbye.”

“Lance,” sighed Veronica. “I _bought that coffee for you_.”

“Pssh,” said Lance. “Semantics.”

* * *

After that, Lance made it maybe two weeks pacing restlessly around Veronica’s apartment. The second bedroom was firmly established as Veronica’s office and she’d refused to give it up. “You can take the couch,” she’d told Lance, refusing to budge. “If I’m putting you up for a year I’m not going to suffer through a lack of personal space. You have to suffer through a lack of personal space.”

“What if I jack off on your couch?” Lance threatened, feeling wild at the prospect of living in communal space again. He had finally thought he was _free_ of the dorm life, damn it!

“You’ll die,” Veronica said, voice serene. “Keep it to the shower, Lance, you know the rules. And for god’s sake, don’t get crumbs between the cushions, _please_. You never vacuum it out again.”

True. Lance hated vacuuming.

The point, though, was that Lance spent all of his time in the living room -- staring at the same walls, the same horse-shaped water stain, sitting on the same damned couch he slept on, and it was all a little too much all too soon. He made a break for it one Thursday afternoon. The stations environmental controls might have been on the fritz, or someone behind the controls just thought they were funny, because it was drizzling out.

“I need the biggest mug of hot chocolate you’ve got,” demanded Lance, sprawling across every inch of counter space he could reach.

“Uhm,” said Shay, shifting awkwardly. “We don’t sell hot chocolate?”

“Noooo!”

“Shut it,” Veronica said, looking up from the table nearest the register where she was going through papers she had forgotten to grade last night -- Lance had woken up to her hollering in a panic about it that morning. She must have been on break. 

“ _You_ shut it,” Lance muttered, entirely petulant. The shitty weather outside was only making him feel more caged in, not less. Even the air cycling through the coffee shop’s ventilation system tasted stale on the back of his tongue. 

Shay said, “We do have scones, however?”

“ _You_ ,” said Lance, pointing at her, “are my new favorite.”

Grinning, Shay went off to get him a scone; Veronica just rolled her eyes and got back to work, which left Lance fidgeting on a stool at the counter, trying to shake a general feeling of grumpiness. 

The door opened with a tinkling chime.

And -- _jesus_. Lance went entirely still, eyes wide in disbelief, as soon as he set eyes on the hulking figure that came through. Only _hulking_ was really the wrong word for him, because as massive as this guy was -- _alien_ , Lance registered faintly, probably Galra, utterly _beautiful_ \-- he was also incredibly... graceful? Sort of sleek, with narrowed hips and a straight, proud back. There was a braid of white hair looped over his shoulder, frizzled with moisture, and the scowl on his blue and red toned face looked ferocious enough to set someone on fire.

His ears were so, so fucking fluffy, holy crow.

Lance’s breath let out in a single, nearly inaudible wheeze of devastation.

The longer Lance stared at this guy the more attractive he became. What even. Lance had never really thought _that guy is probably strong enough to snap me like a twig_ in a way that was entirely wistful and also burning with instinctive, ridiculously horny desire, but -- _I kind of want him to snap me like a twig_. He could at least admit it to himself.

Except, as soon as the guy got his order he turned and wandered off across the shop, treating Lance to a truly superb view of his ass, and --

“I kind of want him to snap me like a twig,” he told Shay, who dropped an entire platter of scones on the floor in response.

__

_* * *_

Lance had immediately pegged him for a student or a professor at Veronica’s college the first time he laid eyes on him. Considering the locale and the frequency in which he showed up it just made sense -- also the fact that, while the guy didn’t wear spectacles he _did_ wear blazers with the super retro patches on the sleeves. It was possibly the nerdiest thing Lance had ever seen, which just did not mesh up with the rest of the dude’s countenance -- narrowed, piercing yellow eyes; massive, muscular shoulders; a stern wrinkle between furrowed brows.

Honestly, Lance wasn’t certain he’d ever seen the guy’s mouth _relax_ , let alone smile. He always seemed to be frowning, and whenever he ordered at the counter his voice was deep, but stiff. Utterly contained.

“I just think it would be fun to get him to unwind, you know?” Lance offered up, after his whole, utterly absurd distraction with the stoic alien had gone on for a while. He always sat in the exact same chair at the exact same table in the corner of the coffee shop, sipping the exact same order -- plain coffee, room for cream and sugar.

The guy could go to a convenience store or bodega for an order like that.

“I think he likes the mugs,” Lance decided, half a week later, watching those big blue fingers delicately tap fine, razor-pointed, retractable claws against the big ceramic handle. “You guys really do have big mugs here. Got any big jugs to go along with it?”

“I thought you were into dudes this month,” Veronica said, with a pointed stare across the room. Lance just shrugged, because if she didn’t realize that Lance was pretty much into anything and anyone, constantly, then he wasn’t going to be the one to burst that little security bubble.

Lance asked, “Is he a professor?”

“Yeah,” Veronica sighed, laying her head down on the counter and no doubt asking what she had done to get her pain in the ass little brother as an impromptu roommate for a year. It had only been three months so far. Lance had patted her head gently, making ridiculous cooing noises.

Across the room, a flicker of shifting blue drew his eye.

He had looked up just in time to see the alien look down, back at his paper, frown even more intense. Always the same paper, Lance thought, wondering at it. He hoped the guy would look back up again -- those eyes, man. Yellow like pollen, or the fuzzy stripes of a bee, or melted butter on popcorn, fuck, Lance was bad at poetic imagery, but he just --

He really liked the guy’s eyes, all right.

* * *

Funnily enough, it _did_ last through the month.

And then it lasted for _another_ half a month, until Lance was something like a full four months settled into his newfound passion for intensive sort of stalking -- Lance really hoped it didn’t _actually_ count as stalking; it wasn’t like he was following the guy around, or anything -- Veronica grimaced and took pity on him and said, “His name is Kolivan Marmora. He teaches history of ancient warfare -- I’ve never actually met him though, just sat in on his class, hm, two semesters ago?”

“Oh, my _god_ , Ronnie,” Lance gasped, reeling on his stool so enthusiastically he actually tumbled clear off of it. He pointed an accusing finger at her from the floor. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

“Please, get up,” Veronica demanded, tone promising dire things if he continued with the hysterics. “If you don’t, I will never tell you a single thing about him ever again.”

Well, that just sounded like an excellent game of chicken, didn’t it? 

“That so?" Lance drawled, kicking his foot up on a rung of the stool and put an arm behind his head, getting comfy. It was just Veronica on shift Wednesday afternoons, and _Kolivan Marmora_ wasn’t due in for another --

The bell above the door rang.

Tensing all at once -- because wouldn’t that just fucking be his kind of luck -- Lance rolled his head to check, and -- _shit_. That was -- oh, fuck, no. 

But Veronica’s stifled, evil laughter gave Lance all the evidence he needed that this was _not_ a dream, and that his eye candy had, in fact, just come in a solid twenty minutes early. This was unprecedented. He was never anything less or more than _exactly on time_ , but no, today of all days the dude of Lance’s dreams had to show up _early_. 

Depressingly, he had also stopped still a mere three feet in from the glass door and was now staring down at Lance.

It was a long way down, what with the guy’s general height and Lance’s, uh, current position.

On the floor.

“‘Sup,” he croaked out, and immediately felt like curling up and _dying, oh my god_.

The guy -- _Kolivan_ \-- a fucking professor looking way too built and attractive with those stupid, _stupid_ elbow patches and stern demeanor, jesus, shitfuck, Lance was putting in an order for a new sister, because she was just clinging onto the counter and wheezing, entirely no help at all, _ugh_ \-- tilted his head like some big, endearingly huge, predatory cat, and simply said, “Do you require assistance?”

“Nope,” yelped Lance, scrambling upright before he realized that he could have totally used that to his advantage. Too late now to say _YES!!_ , however. Aggrieved at his own idiocy, he flailed a bit more aggressively than he needed to, which turned out to be an absolutely terrible idea because his foot was still wedged a little into the stool rungs and he had to hop around trying to catch his balance, and --

“Oof!”

\-- did not manage to catch his balance, at _all_.

Instead, Professor Kolivan fucking Marmora caught him. Lance knew this mostly because his nose was currently being squashed into the really stupid soft gray shirt the guy was wearing under his black blazer. And, just -- wow. _Wow_. This guy was _built_ , holy crow. Those big hands were on Lance, too, one at the small of his back, pressing him carefully close against the solid, massive wall of muscle and heat the guy was giving off; the other was at his hip, steadying him, except that Lance was only getting dizzier this close to the guy he’d been guiltily jacking off to fantasies of for the past three weeks.

Above his head, a deep voice rumbled, “Are you all right?”

“Nghhja,” said Lance.

“He’s _fine_ ,” Veronica managed to gasp in an almost normal voice. “I -- thank you. I’m sorry, he’s just my idiot brother. Are you all right, sir? Let me get you a coffee on the house, as thanks.”

“It is no trouble,” that deep voice said, and -- haa, shit. Wow, Lance could _feel_ that vibrating in his _teeth_. Careful, Lance leaned back, blinking up --

and _up_ \--

“Hi,” he said, when he finally locked eyes with his savior. “That is a _wicked_ cool scar, my dude. I hadn’t noticed it, before.”

“...Hn.”

Veronica said, “Are you -- Oh, my god,” in this low, completely disbelieving tone, like she could not believe that had just come out of Lance’s mouth. Which, good point. Had that _really just come out of his mouth??_

Lance blurted, “Not that I’ve been staring at you! ‘Cause that would, uh, be creepy, right? Ha ha, soooo creepy, what. I would _never_.”

“Please,” said Veronica. “Accept a complimentary scone, as well.”

Those piercing yellow eyes finally slanted away from Lance, toward his sister. Lance used the opportunity to grimace at how embarrassing this entire situation was, and convinced himself to straighten up under his own power. He was only a little dismayed when those ridiculously huge hands released their firm grip on him.

“Thanks,” he managed. “For the save. That was -- cool.”

The guy -- _Kolivan_ , shit, Lance was going to have to start thinking of him in terms of a proper name, now, which might possibly make Lance feel even guiltier for using him as a jerk off fantasy, especially if he -- god forbid -- moaned it out when he came and _all right, then._

Should not be thinking about getting off while the object of his fantasies was still close enough to smell. Even if his cologne _was_ really, really nice, actually. Lance wondered for one, half-crazed moment, if Kolivan would at all be bothered by Lance just burying his nose right back in, just, you know, smushing his face all up on those amazing pecs, because -- uh, yeah, that was a thing Lance was really wanting to do again.

Very dry, Kolivan said, “You’re welcome.” Then he turned to the counter and told Veronica, “Just my usual, please,” and readjusted the folded paper under his arm. 

Lance eyed it, thinking again how adorably retro this guy was, with his blazers and newspaper made of _actual_ paper. If he was a history professor, it made a little more sense, probably -- but Veronica had said _ancient warfare_ , which was way cool and not dorky like -- like _this_ guy so obviously was.

Idly, Lance wondered if he worked out extra amounts just so that he could get away with the whole retro geek look.

Being as surreptitious as he knew how, Lance slid onto the nearest stool, drumming his fingers against the tabletop while Veronica rang him up and sidled down the bar to get at the waiting carafe of dark roast coffee. “So,” said Lance, unable to resist. “That uh -- paper. Crosswords?” he hazarded, because he had seen Kolivan with an honest to god ink pen in hand, scribbling at it with a look of disgust.

Kolivan glanced at him briefly, then looked back at the rows of mugs arrayed on fancy shelves behind the counter. “Yes,” he said.

“Cool,” nodded Lance, desperately searching for anything else to say. “Cool, cool, so -- uh. Coffee guy, huh?”

 _God_ , that had been a stupid thing to say.

Slowly, Kolivan’s head turned back around toward Lance. This time, he let his gaze settle on him and hold, a corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. “Yes,” he said again. “But mostly because I enjoy the atmosphere of a place such as this.”

Lance nodded even more eagerly. “Like, for your crossword puzzles?”

Kolivan laid a hand against the edge of the counter, leaning casually into it. “Indeed. Quiet, unobtrusive, and yet not entirely solitary. I also like the smell of freshly brewed coffee.”

“That is -- fascinating,” Lance lied through a blinding smile. 

To be honest, he only half understood the words coming out of Kolivan’s mouth because mostly he was distracted focusing on the _sound_ of it. Like his voice had texture or something, he just -- Lance wanted to sign up for any lecture this man was teaching, just to listen to him.

“Is it?” 

And -- oh, man. The professor sounded adorably puzzled. 

Any minute, now, Veronica was going to be back with Kolivan’s coffee. Already she had stretched the amount of time it took to pour _plain black coffee_ into a ready mug nearly to an impossible length; truly, she was a good sister when it counted. Desperate to keep the conversation going, Lance said, “This is a pretty good place for quiet. Guess that’s why I see you around so often?”

“...Mm. Yes. I suppose it _was_.”

Lance blinked, leaning heavily on his elbow. It slid out from beneath him a little, but he just went with it, collapsing into a half-sprawl across the counter, head tipped back in order to keep looking Kolivan in the face. “ _Was_ , you said? What happened?”

“Well,” Kolivan said, that dry voice from before making a sudden appearance. “It gained a new patron.”

“A new --”

“Mm. He can be a little distracting at times. And _loud_.”

Lance blinked owlishly, appalled. “ _No_ , how dare he! Point him out to me, professor, and I’ll --”

“Lance,” said Veronica, setting the giant mug of coffee on the counter with care. “It’s _you_ , you idiot. He’s talking about _you_.” 

When Lance squawked a denial, Kolivan’s lips twitched again, but -- that might be a good thing, actually. Lance wasn’t getting murder vibes; mostly he was just getting exasperated, faintly amused vibes, which, you know, he could definitely work with those.

Clearing his throat, he waved Kolivan away when he reached for his credit chip. “I’ve got it,” he said. “As a thank you for catching me. Or, uh --”

He cut off when he got a glimpse of Veronica’s bewildered face. _You’ve got this? With whose money?!_ was about to come tripping out her mouth, Lance just knew it. He slapped the counter a little desperately to get her attention and arched his brows at her hopefully.

She gave him the stink eye but also turned around and headed into the back, so, officially Lance’s favorite sister.

“You don’t have to,” Kolivan said, tone a little awkward. “It was no problem.”

“I want to,” Lance insisted, leaning in earnestly. He wet his lips before he thought better of it, and tried not to be disappointed that he couldn’t actually tell if Kolivan’s gaze had darted down to watch or not. “Please, really. It’s the least I can do to thank you. Or, uh. Apologize, I guess? For uhm, the noise. And distraction.”

After a moment, Kolivan dipped his head in a graceful acknowledgment. “Very well,” he said, collected his mug of coffee, and went off to get cream and sugar, newspaper still tucked under one patched elbow. 

Honestly, it was pretty impressive he’d managed to catch Lance _and_ avoid dropping that thing.

“You’re hopeless,” Veronica sighed, suddenly in front of him. Lance yelped, flailed, and grabbed onto the edge of the counter with both hands. A nervous glance over his shoulder had him torn between relieved that Kolivan wasn’t staring at him in bemused pity, and petulance that Kolivan _wasn’t looking at him any longer_.

“I need that man to touch me again,” Lance breathed. “Like, all over my body, all the time. Holy shit, did you know he smells amazing? Also, Ronnie, you are like, my favorite sister, ever, I love you.”

“I’m your only sister,” Veronica reminded him. “But I love you, too, you brat.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic continues to be some stream of consciousness bullshit that insists on veering off course from any vague direction i have planned and also does it in about 3k more words than i anticipated, so, you know, _still not done yet_ , oops. but a blast to write! i hope it's half as much fun to read, <3

Horribly, Kolivan the Professor with the Bangin’ Bod left _while Lance was in the bathroom_.

“Are you serious?” Lance asked, aghast. “He just -- and you _let him_? Ronnie, you are officially the worst sister, what did I ever see in you?!”

Veronica adjusted her glasses meaningfully. “Oh, let’s think about this one, shall we? A decent apartment, a life away from everything you ever knew, a heart big and dumb enough to let you crash on my couch for an eternity, beauty, an excellent work ethic, a sparkling wit, a --”

“That’s enough,” Lance cried, throwing himself at the counter. “I surrender.”

“Honestly,” said Veronica, “you don’t really have a hill to stand on, so that’s probably for the best. Now, tell me again how you plan on paying for your dream boat’s coffee, please?”

“ _Ugh_.”

* * *

Veronica may have lived light years away from everyone and everything Lance had ever known and cherished, but that didn’t mean he was cut off. Long distance communication was a _thing_ , and Lance was under orders to keep several people updated on his continued well-being and status as a functional adult, including Hunk.

Dear, sweet, judgmental without meaning to be _Hunk_.

Lance whined, “Stop judging me.”

Hunk scrunched his face up adorably, and said, “I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“I can see it in that beautiful face of yours,” Lance insisted. He was sprawled out on the couch, becoming one with the cushions, and trying not to drop his tablet on his face. It was old, a little outdated, and liable to break if it hit something as hard as Lance’s head. And he _still_ didn’t have a job or money to replace it with. 

“It’s just --”

“Don’t. Let me have this.”

Hunk squinted at him. “He’s Galra, you said?”

From her office Veronica hollered, “Yes!” Lance glared at the arm of the couch by his feet, which was in the opposite direction of the spare room, but he couldn’t bear to move, even for this. His pride still hadn’t recovered from the little situation at the coffee shop earlier, what with the being absurdly prone and the embarrassing flailing and the worse dialogue, and all.

He tried especially hard not to think about Professor Kolivan Marmora sneaking out when Lance wasn’t looking, but it was just about the _only thing he could think of_. Which was why he had decided to complain to Hunk.

“And he’s --” Hunk hesitated, like he was trying to figure out a graceful way of saying this and coming up empty. “Uhm.”

“Yes,” said Lance. “He _is_ beautiful. Big, beautiful, blue -- did I mention that? He’s _blue_ , Hunk, that is my favorite color. He is _literally my favorite color_.”

“That’s cool. Super cool, even! But is he --”

“Don’t be xenophobic, Hunk! Be a buddy, a bro, a --”

“He’s a professor at my school,” Veronica piped in, clearly enjoying this. “And he’s _been_ a professor at my school for the last _two decades_.”

Lance muttered, “I knew I should have shut and barred that door.”

“It opens from the inside, Lance.”

“I don’t care!” he yelled back, and he didn’t, because Hunk was making that face where it was all scrunched up extra, and yes, it was super adorable, but also a touch traumatic, because it looked like what he was thinking was maybe paining him in his giant, ludicrously wonderful heart, and Lance was not going to like this one bit.

“Lance,” said Hunk, hesitant. “He, uh. That’s like -- is he _really old?_ ”

Lance gasped, deeply offended and also deeply uncomfortable with where he felt this conversation going. “First xenophobia and now _ageism_ , Hunk? I thought I raised you better than that! What would Pidge think?”

“That you need to examine this from all angles to decide if it’s worth pursuing or not,” Hunk said dutifully. “Lance, he could be, uh. Really old. Like, so old. A Galra’s natural lifespan is _thousands of years_! What if he has kids? What if his kids have kids? And his kids’ kids have kids?!”

“It caps out at a thousand, actually,” said Veronica, then she cursed, slammed a fist on her desk, and called out, “I’m fine! We’re fine! Lance, vacuum that couch I don’t need a bug infestation!”

“I’d have to move first,” Lance said petulantly, melting further into the cushions. “So, no.”

Fidgeting with the tablet, Lance avoided looking directly at Hunk until he couldn’t resist the siren call of that soulful brown gaze. Lance looked and immediately winced. “Huuuunk,” he whined. “I just. I can’t help it if I like the guy, okay? I just _do_. I have been. I can’t turn it off, okay?”

“Okay,” said Hunk, still frowning gently, like he was worried. Lance hated that expression turned on him; it made him feel sick, like he’d done something wrong. He shouldn’t be worrying Hunk like this. “But from what you’re saying you also _hit on him_ , Lance. And I just -- is that healthy? Veronica, is it healthy?”

For once, his sister didn’t completely throw him under the bus: “Hell if I know!”

“ _Jesus_ , Hunk,” Lance groaned. “It’s not like I’m --” he broke off, uncertain what he’d been about to say. Fairly certain, though, that he wouldn’t have liked it, whatever it was.

“You are going to come back and finish school, aren’t you?”

Lance winced. It wasn’t because of the question, exactly, though that was part of it -- it was the reminder of the fact that he’d been sleeping on his sister’s couch for four months and he wasn’t any closer to figuring out... anything. 

And it was Hunk’s tone, too -- plaintive, worried.

“Of course,” Lance sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous, big guy. I’ll be back end of the year, outstanding crush on a potentially centuries old professor, or not.” 

The real question was what he was going to _do_ when he got back; where he would be at, how he would feel. If he had a future or just an endless stretch of uncertainty and not knowing what he wanted or how to go about living a life that didn’t feel like a slow slide off a steep cliff, destination too far down to see but liable to be bone-crushing.

Lance stifled a sigh that turned into a yawn.

“I worry about you, dude,” Hunk offered. “What if you decide that you don’t even want to finish your degree? It’s not like everyone needs to! What if you, like, find your dream job all the way out _there_ , and never come and see me again! You know I’m afraid of space travel, Lance! I would never see you!”

“Hunk --”

“And if you came to visit me your ship would probably crash and you’d die in the black just like countless others who risked life and limb in a tin can rattling around --”

“-- jesus, Hunk, you _build spaceships_ , what --”

“-- WHAT IF YOU BECOME THIS PROFESSOR’S SUGAR BABY? HE’S OLD, RIGHT? WHAT IF YOU GIVE UP ON ALL YOUR HOPES AND DREAMS AND JUST LIVE A LAVISH LIFE OF COMFORT AND KINKY SEX AND LET HIM TAKE CARE OF YOU, OH, OH MY GOD, HE _IS_ OLD, HE PROBABLY HAS SO MUCH MONEY SAVED UP! NO, LANCE, NO! I WILL NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN, I --”

“Oh, no,” said Veronica from right over Lance’s head. “How tragic, the connection seems to be breaking up. These long distance lines and all that. Sorry, Hunk! Later!”

Lance squawked reflexively when she reached over him and shut his tablet off in one deft _click_ , making Hunk’s panicked expression disappear. Faintly, Lance said, “Put on some deodorant, sis, _god_. What have you been doing in that office? Lifting weights or grading papers? And, _dude_. That was mean. He needs help coming down when he gets all worked up like that.”

“You didn’t need to listen to it anymore,” Veronica said, decisive. “Now stop complaining about my body odor and budge over on this couch that I purchased with my own hard earned money and which you have taken over and made _disgusting_ with your damned crumbs. We’re playing a video game.”

“Your games _suck_ ,” Lance complained, but he also heaved himself upright with great dignity and minimal flailing, and settled on the other end while Veronica turned on the screen and set up the console. 

Veronica sniped back, “Then get a job, earn some money, and buy me _better games_ , brat.”

“...I’m not gonna become a sugar baby.”

And -- crap. Lance hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t actually meant to acknowledge any of what Hunk had been saying there at the end, because it sounded too much like fatalism or giving up. Not that Lance had any issue with actual sugar babies, and hell, that sort of lifestyle _did_ sound kind of fantastic. Being pampered and adored didn’t sound half bad, but --

Lance wanted to _make_ something of himself all on his own merit. He always had.

He just didn’t get why it was so fucking _difficult_ to do it.

“You probably could if you wanted,” Veronica said, and on-screen _Silver Millennium: Pretty Guardian Marmoru’s Quest for the Golden Crystal II_ ’s garish logo came on screen. Lance groaned seeing it, and Veronica spoke over him, selecting _new game_ , and also setting the difficulty to _crazy no good difficult to the extreme_ , jesus. “You’re clever, and the pretty gene runs in our family, and you’re outrageous and have very, _very_ little shame --”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Lance grumbled, selecting the option on screen that would take them on the path toward the Priestess of Mars’i, because she was a way better dating option than any of the new asteroid chumps that had come with last month’s DLC. 

“-- so you could probably do it.” And then Veronica added, airily, “I mean, if that’s what you _wanted_.”

“Shut up,” said Lance. “You know it’s not. I don’t -- aw, hell, c’mon, Ronnie. Stop gathering the green mushrooms, you’re gonna make us play that stupid mini game --”

“I love that stupid mini game!”

Lance sighed, and within five minutes they were jostling each other with their elbows trying to make each other mess up, hissing expletives and increasingly creative threats at each other. It was a good break -- a kind one. Lance appreciated it, even if he hated this stupid game, and even if he hated himself, a little, because knowing a few things that he _didn’t_ want unfortunately did little to actually help him figure out what he _did_ want out of life.

Honestly, he just knew that he wanted to be _awesome_. 

If only they had a fucking degree for _that_ , Lance would be golden.

* * *

There were probably a hundred thousand ba _jillion_ reasons for Lance to avoid the coffee shop forever more, but Lance had a gift for doing things that he shouldn’t and that had the potential for crippling embarrassment in particular, so, the next day he girded his loins and headed out, wearing his cleanest and skinniest pair of jeans and also the orange shirt that was, yes, _loud as sin_ , but also looked amazing against his skin.

“He’s not here,” Shay said, as soon as Lance settled in at the counter.

Lance, who had been trying very hard not to look behind himself like a maniac to get a good glimpse of Kolivan, startled badly enough he had to catch himself on the counter so that he didn’t slip and fall _again_. Once a week was more than enough, thank you.

“Who?” he asked, playing dumb.

Shay gave him a pitying look, and turned to the customer coming up to the register. 

Well... this was, uh.

_Shit_. Had Lance officially frightened him away? He had done that before. Two of the girls he had dated in high school had lasted maybe half a week before saying they were just _not that interested in dating after all_ and, when pressed, clarified with: Lance was high maintenance and exhausting and honestly they just wanted to try and graduate first before investing that much time and emotional energy into a significant other.

Which, fair. Lance could totally understand that, even if he _did_ eat an entire platter of Hunk’s infamous chocolate death cupcakes in the aftermath. The frosting might have been made with Lance’s own tears and sadness, but no one could ever confirm it.

College had been different -- _Lance_ had been different, at least in some ways. 

Experimentation, drunken make outs, the occasional hook up with sort of friends, all that had been good, great even. Lance had figured a bunch of shit out, including the fact that he tended to fall in love way, way too often for his own well being.

“You’re in love with love,” Pidge had told him once, brutally honest. 

Which, again -- _fair_.

Just not entirely helpful, was the thing.

Wilting, Lance oozed out onto the counter, his cheek landing against a sticky spot and refusing to budge, so instead he scooted his butt back on the stool so that he was balanced precariously on his thighs and the stool legs were teetering a little, because Lance had, officially, scared Professor fucking Kolivan Marmora of the excruciating hotness away from his preferred crossword and coffee-scented place of leisure.

That was just -- really shitty. Lance felt bad for Kolivan but also _for himself_ , ugh.

“Do you _enjoy_ falling?”

With a yelp, Lance shot upright, heart thudding hard in his chest, because -- 

_FUCK_.

\-- not again, oh, come on! Please, not -- 

The stool veered backward alarmingly, and Lance’s hands flailed upward alarmingly, and the whole situation was entirely _alarming_ , even without Veronica on shift that day to cackle at an alarming decibel, because once again Lance was caught by big, strong, _blue hands_.

“Uh,” he said, from his position half-off the stool. 

Kolivan had come up behind him, this time, and Lance’s back was pressed up against a taut stomach, rippling with muscle even through two layers of clothing. A button from Kolivan’s -- red, he was fucking wearing _red_ today, holy shit -- blazer dug in between Lance’s shoulder blades, which was possibly the only reason Lance knew for sure that this was not, in fact, a dream coming true or something. 

Because, like, Kolivan’s hands were firmly wrapped around the sides of Lance’s chest and just, that was -- uh, a lot of uhm, surface area that those hands could cover, yeesh. And those hands -- his fucking _claws_ \-- were dangerously close to Lance’s nipples. 

_Dangerously_ close, oh, god.

Flushing, Lance tilted his head back to look at Kolivan’s bemused face upside down, and said, “Come again?”

There really should be an award for the level of _dumb_ that Lance managed to spew, holy shit.

The corner of Kolivan’s mouth twitched. “I said,” he murmured, head tipping down a little lower. “Do you _enjoy_ falling? You seem to make a habit of setting yourself up for it.”

“Ahhhh, well,” Lance cleared his throat, fingers slipping against the edge of the counter. “I guess? But uh, only when you’re here to catch me.”

... _Shit_.

Those golden eyes blinked down at Lance, a slow blink like a cat’s, and Lance honestly had no fucking clue how to categorize what that could possibly mean. “I see,” came that deep voice, so low that Lance barely heard the words, just felt the resonance come out that massive chest and travel into Lance’s back and down his spine from where they were pressed up together.

Lance blurted, “You’re late today. We didn’t think you’d be coming in. And you were _early_ yesterday, actually, come to think of it. What -- er. Not that I, uh, know your schedule.”

“Hmm.”

Lance resisted the urge to squirm, but not well enough, apparently, because he _did_ squirm. Kolivan’s hands tightened their grip, stilling him easily, and Lance’s heart was officially in a race and possibly winning, because it was going faster than it had ever dared to pound before. “Uh,” Lance said, again, head falling back further to thump against the solid curve of Kolivan’s pec.

Valiantly, Lance fought the urge to whimper.

“A personal issue,” Kolivan said, surprising Lance. He honestly hadn’t expected a response -- it wasn’t like Kolivan actually owed one to his sort of creepy not exactly stalker. “A friend of mine -- her son is staying with me for a few days. Disciplinary issues, I believe. He needed a place to stay while she figured something out. I don’t -- hm.”

Lance blinked hopefully. “You don’t?”

A tiny tilt to Kolivan’s head and, oooh, how was someone so big and ferocious so fucking _cute?_ It was possible that the angle was doing funny things to Lance’s brain, that honestly it was probably just being very nearly wrapped up entirely in _Kolivan_ , what even was his life right now.

“I admit, I am uncertain why I am telling you all of this.”

“I’m easy,” said Lance, and then was immediately mortified. “ _I mean_ \-- I’m easy to talk to! I’ve got, uh, one of those faces? And personalities, I think, I get told, uh -- I don’t -- kids. You have a kid?”

Kolivan was silent for a moment, and then said, begrudgingly, “No, I do not. Nor do I have nieces or nephews or even cousins. Having this one under my care is... challenging, to say the least.”

“You look like you’re up for a challenge,” said Lance’s libido without express permission from his brain.

The quelling look that Kolivan gave him was somehow both endearing and unbearably hot. Lance had a moment to think about being in his class, Kolivan giving a lecture, Lance mouthing off just to get Kolivan to give him that _look_ , and then later, maybe, after hours in his office --

_Jerk off fantasies should remain in the sanctity of the shower!_ he reminded himself wildly.

“I just mean,” said Lance, struggling. “That you -- you seem competent. Smart, you know? Crossword puzzles and elbow patches and, and --”

“Elbow patches?”

“So, you don’t have a kid,” said Lance, and he might have been half-drunk on Kolivan’s cologne by this point. He was definitely in the process of melting against so much heat and hard muscle and he didn’t, exactly, understand how his good luck was holding long enough that Kolivan was still holding _him_ , but Lance was really hoping it would continue.

“Correct,” said Kolivan, sounding puzzled.

“A wife? Husband? Life partner?” 

“...No.”

“No?” said Lance, torn between honest surprise and utter delight. “No one to help you child-wrangle? Not even a -- a boyfriend? A --”

“ _No_.”

“Huh,” said Lance. “Are you -- Oh! Are you aromantic? Am I making you uncomfortable with all these questions right now? Oh, my god, I’m so sorry --”

This time, Kolivan’s “ _No_ , Lance,” came out a little strangled, just on the edge of a growl. Lance stopped, blinking rapidly, and then hauled himself up with his grip on the edge of the table all at once, as violently as he could so that he was pressed almost against the counter. _God_ , that tone of voice should be illegal, and fuck his biology anyway for being so obvious with an erection, jesusfuck, he was going to have to start wearing baggier shirts around this guy if he was gonna keep growling like that.

“My bad,” Lance rambled, intensely aware of the way Kolivan’s hands slipped free from their grip on him. He craned his head back over his shoulder, trying not to hunch up too obviously, and said, “So, what the hell makes this friend of yours think you’re at all suited for child rearing? Aside from your obvious, previously stated air of competence, that is.”

“I...”

“ _Hold on_ , wait, you said -- you know my name?”

Lance made to turn around on the stool completely to face Kolivan head on, breathless with this realization. He remembered at the last instant about his _predicament down under_ , and caught himself with a jarring jolt against the counter, stopping the stool’s spin. “Urgh,” he said, which did not help him not to look like an idiot. At all.

“Yes,” Kolivan said, bringing one hand up to gently lay his palm across his eyes, like staring at Lance was just too much to handle right now. “Your sister, I believe. She tends to shout it when you are being, hm...”

“Charming? Entertaining? A delight to all and sundry?”

“ _Loud_ ,” Kolivan decided, tone as dry as a desert. The hand dropped, and Lance hoped he wasn’t delusional about the fact that the way his pretty, pretty gold eyes were all squinched up seemed to indicate amusement. That stern mouth was still doing little more than twitching intermittently at the corner. Lance was going to develop a complex, soon. He really, really wanted to kiss that fucking twitchy corner. 

“Fair,” Lance agreed, voice a little faint. “But I _have_ been told that it’s part of my charm.”

Admittedly, that had been his mother after breakup number two in high school, so Lance wasn’t entirely certain that he should be boasting about it. But also -- _own it_ , that had been a thing Lance had been doing ever since he realized that some people could dislike you just for being _too much_ , so. 

Definitely part of his charm, thanks.

“Indeed,” rumbled Kolivan, and -- holy _shit_.

That was almost a smirk.

“Guuh,” said Lance, grinning back like a dope. “So you -- yeah. I mean, sorry for things getting tricky with the kid and all. Messing up your nice routine. You seem to really like routine, what with -- always on time, usually. And the crosswords every day.”

For some reason, Kolivan stiffened up at that. The smirk fell away, and the bright twinkle in those eyes seemed to bank, going cold and still. He said, “Hn.”

Just -- _hn_.

Lance stared back at him, a little helpless. His body felt cold, like it was suddenly aware that Kolivan had stopped holding on to him even though it had actually happened a while ago. Maybe if he threw himself back toward the floor Kolivan would catch him again and this suddenly awkward air would disperse once more? Lance had thought they had a _rapport_ going, what the hell?

“Crosswords are cool,” Lance tried, hopeful.

All he got back was another, “Hn,” followed by a straightening of Kolivan’s spine and a clearing of his throat. Then the professor, in all his simmering, gorgeous, glowering glory, added, “Apologies. I am running late as it is. Have a good day,” and turned sharply on his heel to go and place his --

Nope.

Shay was at the register, waiting, but Kolivan just walked right on past her and out the front door and _jesus_ , no seriously, he just --

“That ass,” Lance wheezed at Shay. “In those -- the tight black pants, with that little red hem from his blazer just, like, fucking bouncing over _that fucking ass_ , I can’t even -- how is he _real_ , Shay? How?!”

Shay said, a little despondent, “He didn’t even order anything.”

* * *

Lance may have fucked up something at the end of that conversation, but that didn’t mean that the rest of it hadn’t happened the way it had, and he took great pleasure in telling Veronica all about it. Mostly he did so via excitable texts while she was still in class, to which she mostly responded with _!!! STOP I’M IN CLASS YOU ASSHOLE !!!_ but which did not, in fact, stop Lance at all.

He carried on telling her all about it in person, too, when they sat down later that night to eat two day old cold take out for dinner. “It was _amazing_ ,” he said, dreamy. “God, I bet he could cradle me in his arms without any effort, like, at all. Is that a weird thing to want? Am I weird? Do I have, like, what -- is there a kink for this?”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” asked Veronica, entirely skeptical. “Like, really Lance. You don’t even know the guy -- it’s easy to flirt with a stranger. But you’re -- you -- ugh!”

“Yes,” agreed Lance. “I’m _ugh_ , I know.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but Lance got it. He did, really. He said, “I have no idea, actually. About anything, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here in your tiny apartment on your stupid couch and not fucking _doing anything_ but watching some hot Galra professor sip coffee and get mad at crossword puzzles, okay? But I -- I dunno, Ronnie. I just...”

“You just _want_ ,” sighed Veronica. “That’s always been your problem, Lance. You _want_ , but you don’t want the easy things, or any of the concrete things. You don’t want things that are attainable, you --”

“I can’t hear any of this,” sang Lance, loudly. Then, “Also, _rude_. I totally want attainable things. I want to finish this meal, and I want you to stop harassing me, and I want to go take a nice, long, hot shower, because I came up with a _really great fantasy today_ and --”

Veronica stole his line, hollering, “I CAN’T HEAR ANY OF THIS,” but as far as Lance was concerned it counted as a win because she also stopped shitting all over his less than stellar life choices.

Of which there were more than a few, but _still_.

* * *

The next two times Kolivan came in all he did was nod sharply in Lance’s general direction. He was also entirely and precisely on time, even if he did look a little frazzled doing so. Lance sat at the counter tapping his toes and his fingers and jiggling his thigh, brow furrowed as he considered what this could mean and what Lance should do with it.

“Do you think he’s playing hard to get?” he asked Shay.

Shay carefully took away his mug of coffee, poured it down the sink, and then refilled it with decaf -- but she also piled on whipped cream as a last minute apology for her daring, which kind of defeated the purpose if the purpose had anything to do with calming Lance down. He said, “No, I mean it, Shay. We had, like, a _connection_. He seemed to really be enjoying the conversation --”

“How could you tell?” Shay asked, bewildered.

“-- and then, poof! Instant lock down. All I said was, uh, something about his crossword puzzles, I think, and maybe --”

Veronica leaned over the counter and stole half of his whipped cream with a spoon, popping it into her mouth and humming over Lance’s loud cry of dismay. “Did you insult him? I bet you managed to insult him without even realizing it. You’re actually pretty good at reading people, usually. It’s a natural McClain talent, but sometimes you have a habit of being so okay with something that you don’t even realize the other person might not be.”

“... _Oh_ ,” said Lance, with feeling.

“Mm,” agreed Veronica, and then stole the other half of Lance’s whipped cream. 

Half in a daze, Lance let her. Okay, so, maybe Lance _had_ accidentally offended the sexy professor. It seemed strange to Lance to think that someone like _Kolivan fucking Marmora_ might have self-esteem issues, but anything was possible. Like Veronica had pointed out before, Lance didn’t really _know_ him. 

He just knew he _wanted_ to get to know him. 

“Wish me luck,” he said, leaning over the side of the counter to snag the carafe Shay had set down there. 

Veronica dutifully responded with, “I wish you all the worst and most foul luck known to man, baby bro.”

Shay said, “Good luck!” and also, “Lance, wait, I need that --”

But Lance was already zipping across the room before his common sense could come back or his nerves could prove to be the brittle things they were and break down and leave Lance turning around and running back with his tail tucked between his legs, crying, and before he quite knew what to say he was standing at the side of Kolivan’s little table in the corner of the shop, strangely out of breath, and entirely fucking flustered.

“Hey,” he said, and tried to pretend it sounded less like a squeak than it actually did.

Kolivan, whose massive shoulders had been hunched over the table, scowling at his newspaper with his adorable ink pen fucking dwarfed in his hand held viciously still above it, as though he were ready to stab the crossword and make it bleed words at a moment’s notice, twitched.

Then, he cocked his head and glanced up, sidelong, at Lance.

_Fuck_ , did Kolivan somehow not know what he looked like when he did that? God _damn_.

“...Hm?”

Lance said, brightly, “Want a refill?” and before Kolivan could give him an answer he’d already tipped the carafe and was pouring coffee into Kolivan’s still mostly full mug. He managed to stop before it overflowed from the brim, at least, and stubbornly refused to think about how much of an idiot he really was, because Lance hadn’t left room for milk or sugar and also, _also_ , this was the fucking _decaf carafe_ , and Kolivan always got the blend that had the strongest amount of caffeine.

Oops.

“There ya go!” Lance chirped, still stubbornly bright.

Kolivan’s whole body tensed, some sort of terrifying stillness like a predator before it explodes into motion. Lance was probably wrong to find it as sexually thrilling as he did, but whatever. That boat had sunk months ago. Kolivan said, “...You do not work here.”

“Ah,” said Lance. “You’re totally right.”

He set the carafe onto the table with a clatter, managing not to land it on the newspaper at all, but just barely. Then he shoved himself into the lonely chair across from Kolivan, and it was a moment of awful, awkward chaos, chair legs squeaking abysmally, Lance rocking the table enough that Kolivan’s overly full coffee cup _did_ slop over. just a little, Lance’s limbs growing at least seven feet longer for how much difficulty he had getting them into an orderly position, but --

Finally, he settled in, and his legs were tucked up under, wedged in with Kolivan’s like two pieces of a puzzle locked into place. Lance’s knee wiggled, helpless beneath his frantic nerves, and Lance managed to start up a series of _tap tap tap_ s, going from one of Kolivan’s legs to the other, touching him, he --

_Fuck_ , Lance was seriously and actually _touching Kolivan under the table with his leg_ , what was this? Footsie? Was this how you did this? How did --

“I really like how reliable you are,” Lance said. “I mean, it’s totally cool if you can’t be -- we’re all huma -- ahh, uh. We’re all... mortal? And shit happens, like random kids dropped on your unsuspecting, but pert ass --”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Kolivan asked, straightening up from his hunch in one swift, startled movement, not unlike what Lance imagined a maiden aunt might do when confronted with ribald behavior -- or Lance’s inability to keep it in his pants and out of his dialogue. He could _feel_ the way his cheeks heated up, but he just kept on going, because there wasn’t really anything else to do at this point.

“I’m just saying,” he blustered on. “Routine isn’t bad at all. I like that, uh, I know when you’ll be here. It’s nice. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Lance’s knee kept pinging back and forth between Kolivan’s, getting faster, until -- 

“Eep,” Lance squeaked, every inch of his body gone stiff -- _every inch_ \-- because that was, uh, Kolivan had, uhm, jesus fucking _wept_ , Lance wasn’t going to recover from this, ever, because Kolivan had clamped his legs tight around Lance’s knee in one swift movement, and the heat of it traveled right on up Lance’s thigh into, uh, other areas, and Kolivan half-growled, “You’re incredibly mobile, did you know that? How do you maintain the energy?”

“Born that way,” Lance wheezed.

“I see,” lied the giant blue alien that had Lance’s leg captive. Lance struggled for breath, for sanity, for a single iota of suave, witty verbiage, but mostly he was just trapped along with his leg which, _look_ , Lance was no delicate thing, he worked out -- especially now that he mostly lived on a couch -- and he ran, and he took the stairs whenever he could, because he _liked_ looking fit, okay, Lance enjoyed it when people gave him and his muscles an appreciative once over, it felt nice, but --

Apparently, so did being pinned by a massive wall of alien muscle.

“Ghgna,” Lance tried, and Kolivan’s lip twitched.

And then, because Lance literally did not know how to avoid self-sabotage, he burbled out, “How old are you, exactly? You’re not like, twenty nine thousand four hundred and fifty two, or something, are you?”

“...That was weirdly exact,” said Kolivan, and released Lance’s leg. 

_Nooo_ , cried every inch of Lance’s body, especially the part of his anatomy now at shameful attention. _Come back_ , they said. _Hold me down, baby, I like it, I do --!_

Lance slumped in his seat, feeling exhausted and boneless and mortified all at once. His face was still tingling from what must have been the mother of all blushes, and the carafe was mocking him on the counter as though asking exactly how desperate and thirsty he could _possibly be_ , but Lance tried not to just melt straight into a puddle on the floor and instead said, “I’m just curious. I’m a curious guy, you know. Super curious. Just wanna, uh, know all the things, and --”

Kolivan tilted his head, his expression a frown of thought, maybe, rather than irritation, and it made his braid swing down off his far shoulder so that it dangled down his chest, incredibly tempting and fetching. It was a surprisingly messy braid, considering how put together Kolivan tended to appear. Lance wondered if he did it himself and if that was why, and if he did it in a rush first thing in the morning, or right after a shower, the steam still fogging the mirror, his body glistening --

Okay. Okay, this was getting a little ridiculous.

He tried to remember Hunk’s sad, worried face and his buddy’s concerns about space explosions and also whether Lance was intent on becoming a sugar baby and how old, exactly, Kolivan was. He didn’t have kids, which meant his grankids couldn’t have have kids because he _didn’t have any grandkids_ , so, yeah, that was a definite plus.

But --

“You are human, yes?” Kolivan asked. “From Earth.”

Lance nodded far more enthusiastically than he needed to. “That I am!”

“Mm. Then I am three hundred seventy...four, of your Earth years.”

...Oh.

Okay, that was, uh, maybe a lot of years. 

“Wow,” said Lance, wide eyed. “ _Wow_. That’s -- uh, you’re kind of old, aren’t you? That’s cool. That’s very cool, so cool, I don’t even -- I am so sorry I just called you old, _are_ you old? I mean like, to Galra? Not to humans, cause we uh, we only live for like two centuries tops these days, so --”

Kolivan’s furrowed brow became even more furrowed. Lance could only tell that he glanced down at the pen still gripped firmly in one big blue hand by the way his eyes went slightly hooded with the new direction. Lance followed his gaze and watched Kolivan’s fingers flex against the pen, once, before he set it carefully across his half-finished crossword puzzle.

Lance stared at the letters scratched in there, trying to decide on the language but brain a little too busy buzzing with nerves to guess.

“I suppose that I would be, hmm,” Kolivan said, the words coming out slow, and thoughtful, and agonizingly deep and precise. He also crossed his arms across his chest, which made his biceps bulge out in a way that seemed to be threatening to pop a seam in his blazer -- charcoal gray, today, and complete with brown elbow patches, _jesus_. 

This time, Lance might not have been able to stifle a whimper, but honestly -- _honestly_ \-- who was going to blame him?

Thankfully, Kolivan ignored him and continued, saying, “Somewhere around thirty, thirty-two in relation to -- no, maybe closer to forty? I am not certain. But would that -- is that _old_ in your people’s estimation, then? I have rarely considered myself old, save when my students are being particular pains and giving me a migraine.”

“Ouch,” said Lance. “Migraines, huh? Get them often?”

“More than I’d like,” Kolivan admitted, rueful.

Lance nodded some more, and then he reached out to fiddle with the handle of the carafe. The bottom of the pot had left smears of burnt coffee on the table, which -- oops. Lance should probably clean that up. He should probably also stop bothering the nice professor, who was being incredibly accommodating considering Lance was basically asking him really insensitive, personal questions, and --

“Not really,” Lance decided. “Not -- uh, not that old, actually. I mean, technically you have still lived waaay over what my entire lifespan is going to be, and you’re gonna _keep_ on living after I’m nothing but space dust, but uh, I guess. Not... that old.”

Lance flicked a glance at Kolivan, chest squeezing in alarm when he found that rich, honey-yellow gaze staring straight at him, all intently and with a whole hell of a lot of heat that Lance hoped he wasn’t imagining. He wet his lips, and couldn’t resist adding, “Kind of makes you a sexy older guy, rather than a creepy anything, I think.”

“...Hn,” said Kolivan, the stern line of his mouth tilting, _tilting_ , almost smirking or smiling or _something_ , as he said, “Is that so?”

“Yes,” breathed Lance. “That is, uh. So.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Veronica said, right behind him. Lance startled so fucking badly he yelped, banged his knee against the bottom of the counter, and spilled both the carafe of decaf and Kolivan’s mug full of too much coffee. The carafe tumbled clear off the edge and Lance and Kolivan both lunged for it, Lance managing to hook his fingers around the handle while Kolivan just straight up palmed the thing from beneath, keeping it from going anywhere.

“ _Nice_ ,” said Lance, grinning.

“Mm,” was the only response Kolivan gave him, aside from another one of those _behave yourself_ stares that Lance was really starting to appreciate. 

Meanwhile, Kolivan’s coffee had spilled all over his crossword puzzle.

“Oh,” said Veronica, voice high and faint with horror as she tugged at the dishtowel tucked into her apron. “ _Oh_ , professor, I am _so sorry_. I didn’t mean to -- here, please, let me, uh --”

“It is no trouble,” said Kolivan. “I should probably be heading back, anyway, and this particular puzzle was... less than stimulating. It is no great loss.”

Lance tried very hard not to swoon at that smooth voice acting all gallant, but _c’mon_ , he wasn’t made of titanium. Under his breath, Lance muttered, “I’ll show you _stimulating_ , professor,” and then flushed from the roots of his hair to his toes when Kolivan turned his head fast as anything from Veronica to him, and _fucking slow-blinked_ like he had heard him perfectly, and, ohhhh god, oh holy fucking crow, how good were those fluffy fucking Galra ears, _shit_.

“Uh,” said Lance.

Veronica attacked the table with her dishtowel and Kolivan let go of the carafe, leaving it in Lance’s nearly limp fingers. With a strangled curse he re-caught the stupid pot of shitty, mostly cold at this point coffee, and by the time he was sorted Kolivan was standing just a little ways past him, hesitating.

“ _Uh_ ,” said Lance again, blinking rapidly at Kolivan, not wanting him to leave, not wanting him to leave _on this note_ in particular, but also completely at a loss as to what to say.

Kolivan’s mouth twitched, and that was _definitely_ a smile without it being a smile, it had to be. He dipped his head, a little, regal-looking inclination of acknowledgment and farewell, and then Kolivan turned and wandered out, tossing the ruined newspaper as he went, easy as could be. Just, broad shoulders and trim waist, perfect ass and powerful thighs, and --

“I can’t believe you,” Veronica hissed. “You’re going to get me fired. Now get that coffee pot back to Shay, she _needs it_. Jesus, kid. Are you -- oh, you’re not even listening, are you? _Lance_ , you asshat, would you --”

“Ronnie,” sighed Lance, clutching the carafe to his chest. “I think I might be in love.”

Veronica rolled her eyes and shoved Lance out of the chair, completely done with his bullshit. “Save it for when I’m off the clock, Romeo. Thank goodness we’re empty around this time of day, I don’t even want to _know_ the kind of looks your moony eyed ass would have garnered had we been busy, also --”

“Lance,” cried Shay’s polite, sweet voice from behind the counter. “Uhm. Please, may I have my coffee pot back?”

“That,” said Veronica. “Stop stealing shit.”

“Fine.” Lance sniffed, and then sashayed his way back to Shay, brandishing the carafe as though it were a spoil of war. “I will -- so long as I manage to steal Professor Kolivan Marmora’s heart, first!”

“Er,” said Shay, without much conviction. “Good luck with that?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand once again this fic continues to defy all reason or word limit! also, bit of a change of pace this chapter! hopefully it's still a fun read but honestly at this point i can't tell anymore! 8D; if you want a more detailed trigger warning than simply "spanking is talked about in this chapter - and not just in a sexy way" then pls check out the end notes!

Technically, this was sort of like their weekiversary.

“That is not a thing,” Veronica said, bewildered and horrified both. Her curls looked exceptionally fly-away, bobbing about her chin in a manner as scandalized as her expression. “Lance, I will not have my brother using such horrible made up words. Please, reconsider all of your life choices leading up to this point _immediately_.”

“That would take way too long,” Lance said, squinting at his reflection in the only floor length mirror in Veronica’s apartment, which also happened to be in Veronica’s bedroom.

“You’re not that old, kiddo.”

Lance tossed the white shirt down onto Veronica’s bed and picked up the slightly off-white shirt, instead. “No,” he agreed. “But I have made a lot of reckless decisions in my short time on this -- uh, in this universe. Did you know, I think it’s crazy how many of these old colloquialisms still exist even in this day and age. Like, how totally isolationist is it to say _on this world_. A lot, right?”

“Don’t try and change the subject!” Veronica ordered, snatching the shirt from his hands. 

Lance made a noise of distress and betrayal that turned into a coo of admiration when instead she shoved a red tank top in his face. “Wear that with your black jeans, you embarrassment to the human race, and stop acting like this is something more than exactly a week after the _first time_ you spoke to your crush, which is nothing, okay, Lance? NOTHING, especially considering you spent _four fucking months staring at him on the sly._ ”

Lance sniffed, but shimmied into the advised outfit to test it out. And yeah, all right, that was a lot of skin on display -- fuck yeah. And his thighs looked _good_ clad in skin-tight denim, which was great, and if he leaned over the counter suggestively just _so_ then maybe Kolivan would be so distracted he would write in the wrong word on his puzzle, which --

Heh. _Heh_. 

Lance said, “Yep! This’ll do. But, you know, for someone with all these dating sim games I really don’t think you have a romantic bone in your _body_ , sis.”

“If I did,” Veronica threatened. “I think I would pry it out and beat you with it.”

* * *

| _i think i might die_ | he sent to Pidge, sitting on the edge of the couch the next morning and bouncing his knees to try and burn off excess energy.

For all that Veronica was right and a week really wasn’t something to make into a _weekiversary_ , it was still sort of momentous, especially for Lance who had rarely ever had a relationship last _past_ seven days. And, yes, technically, this wasn’t even a relationship, at least not in the sense of -- uh, well. Anything romantic, or agreed upon, or even mutually understood as anything other than that Kolivan and Lance were often in the same location and had finally begun interacting.

Still, _sort of momentous_ , at least in Lance’s opinion.

His phone dinged in his hand, startling him. It flipped, somersaulting in the air, and Lance made a strangled noise of utter outrage but caught it, to see that Pidge had sent back | _if you die i’m keeping your niece and nephew as my own because i love them. they can call me uncle if it makes the transition easier it’s all good_ |

| _betrayal of the worst sort!_ | Lance replied, immediately followed by, | _tho you would teach them well, pidgeling_ |

Another quick, wild-eyed glance at the time told him it _still_ was way too early to even think about going to the coffee shop, because if he did then Lance was going to drown himself in copious amounts of caffeine just for something to do and get even _more_ frazzled, which, just, _no_. Lance had made a fool of himself enough already, right?

This was a new week! It could be a new beginning, too, a turning point for his and Kolivan’s possible in-the-works relationship.

God, was that creepy? Was Lance pushing this too fast?

Fuuuuck, waiting was the worst.

At least he had taken the time last night to bother Veronica about his outfit, because in the morning when he woke up way too early because of nerves -- and also a little because depression did a number on his sleep schedule, but so far he was doing all right _not_ thinking or talking about that, thanks -- and had over an hour to kill second guessing _every one of his life choices_ , the one thing he did not second guess was what he was wearing.

| _the universe wouldn’t stand a chance_ | Pidge decreed.

That was true, and the whole brief exchange was starting to do a decent enough job distracting Lance from his nerves, mostly because it hit him right square in the chest with a sudden bout of homesickness. Shit, that wasn’t exactly what he’d been aiming for, but he guessed it worked.

It was nice to know that he could still miss home, even with all the shittiness that had surrounded him there. But, then again -- it wasn’t that _home_ had anything to do with the shittiness.

No, that was all Lance and his own issues, so of course the shittiness had followed him.

He sighed, and typed back, | _i don’t think anyone would complain, but also don’t lie. i know you’re already working your way into their good graces. you’ve been plotting this uncle takeover since day 1, haven’t you???_ |

Another glance at the clock saw that time had not suddenly advanced by any significant margin, and it was still way too soon to go to the coffee shop, _but_ , his legs had stopped jiggling with the blanket of sad that had descended as soon as Pidge had brought up his family, so, even if he sat at the counter of the coffee shop all day he’d probably be safe from a possible caffeine overdose.

Probably.

Pidge said, | _trade secret. hey, am i ever gonna see a pic of this blue boy you’re obsessing over? i’m taking bets as to whether he’s half as attractive as you seem to think._ |

| _are you serious????_ | Lance sent in between shoving his feet into his sneakers. Then, as quick as his fingers could move, added, | _no wait don’t answer don’t wanna know!!_ | because he actually would not put it past them at _all_ , and Lance really did not want to know who was taking wagers on the farce that was his love life.

But he did say, | _he’s a man, pidgelet, a MAAAAN and i want to wreck him because he is absolutely as attractive as i’ve been saying dude YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE_ |

| _omg_ | they replied, much to Lance’s intense amusement. | _you are so gross_ |

* * *

Of course, by the time Lance was settling onto his stool at the coffee shop the nerves were back full force. Definitely a good thing he’d avoided coming in any earlier. Kolivan wasn’t even due in for another two hours, actually, if he was going by his usual schedule -- but after the early arrival last week Lance hadn’t wanted to chance it, so while Veronica was off doing who knew what with her alleged _study group_ , Lance was making wide, hapless eyes at Shay every time she glanced at him.

“You look _so sad_ ,” she said, “please stop, _please_.”

“Tell me everything will go okay,” Lance begged. “Or that at least if something horrible happens and I fall again like an embarrassing romcom trope that he really will be there to catch me up in his strong, sexy arms again, _please_ , I don’t know if I can take this any --”

The door chime went off.

Both Shay and Lance lurched about hopefully toward the front, desperate for this awkward waiting to be over.

“Uh,” said the complete stranger framed by the doorway. “Hi? Are you -- open?”

“Yes!” Shay rushed to assure them while Lance wilted, despondent. That was the _fifteenth time_ in the last hour! Surely, eventually Kolivan would show up. Though...

 _Oh_.

Oh, no.

“Shayyy,” Lance whined. “I literally just told him the other day that it was okay if he wasn’t on time! Because life is hectic and even though I actually really like that he has this _routine thing_ going on I think he was just doing it the last couple of days to prove some weird point because he thought I was making fun of his routine thing, and what if he _doesn’t come in today at all??_ ”

“Uh,” said the complete stranger standing three feet from Lance at the register. “Hi? Are you -- okay?”

Shay was, of course, nowhere to be seen.

“No," Lance told the complete stranger, “I’m going to die of unresolved sexual tension, I think.”

* * *

Fortunately -- especially for the innocent customers who were merely there to get their caffeine or pastry fix and had no desire to be a part of Lance's sordid saga -- Kolivan did, in fact, come in that day, and only a little behind schedule. Lance would have been there to greet him when he came in, possibly like an overeager puppy which would have been both tragic and humiliating and also spot on, but luck had him in the bathroom.

Luck, or the fact that five cups of coffee tended to make you need to pee really, really fucking badly.

And Lance had been holding off for as long as he could, reluctant to miss his opportunity just in case Kolivan only stopped in to pick up something to go. But, eventually, he was no match for the call of nature and he had gone in and peed and it was _a long fucking pee_ because that had been a lot of fucking coffee, okay, so by the time he came back out Kolivan was already seated at his little table with his _own_ mug of coffee, newspaper spread out before him and stony scowl firmly in place.

“Aw, fuck me,” Lance sighed, slumping onto the counter. “He looks so -- whoa.”

Shay asked, “Lance? What’s wrong?” possibly because by this point Lance was usually into the third stanza of a sonnet he was making up on the spot about how much Lance kind of really wanted to lick the little red knobs of Kolivan’s crest, and instead Lance was just staring intensely across the room, probably looking about as startled as he felt.

“ _Huh_.”

A little more desperately, Shay said, “Lance, you’re scaring me. Should I call Veronica? Is this normal for humans? Lance, is everything --”

“He looks _pissed_ ,” Lance interrupted, propping himself up on his elbow and watching Kolivan glower down at his crossword puzzle in fascination. Then Lance put his cheek against his fist, getting comfy, and just -- just took a minute, really, to appreciate the sight, because he had never seen Kolivan look quite this peeved.

It was certainly _something_ to behold, all right.

“Wait,” said Shay, sounding perplexed. “You can -- Lance. Lance, how can you _tell?_ ”

“What do you mean, how can I tell?” asked Lance, and waved his free hand out in an elaborate twirl. “Just look at him!”

“I am! He looks the same as always!”

Lance scoffed, because --

Yeah, sure. The professor looked exactly as sexy as always, even in his least attractive beige blazer that didn’t have elbow patches, because it still fit him in a way that made it obvious that even tailor made those muscles were _not_ meant to be contained. The high necked shirt he wore beneath was cream and made of some stretchy material that fucking _clung_ , all right, and the way his chest shifted as he breathed almost made it impossible to look away, all sheeny, tight material and enticing shadows and gleaming highlights and Lance just, look, he could totally try and motor boat that chest, all right.

He _could_ , and fuck but he wanted to, that would no doubt be _an experience_ , but -- 

“He looks like he’ll bite anyone who comes near,” breathed Lance, and went to tug at the collar of his shirt in a weird combination of nerves and horniness making things a little toastier than usual, realized he was wearing the sort of super slutty tank that exposed all of his collar bones and his sparse chest hair and most of his sides, and hoped a little wildly that Kolivan might look at _Lance_ and see a lot of places that _he_ wanted to bite, because _come on_. 

How hot would _that_ be, holy shit.

But, uh.

Well. 

The set of Kolivan’s shoulders, the rigidness of his posture? _That_ was all different from usual. That wasn’t just Kolivan holding himself precisely, but somehow _viciously_. Even the angles of his face were different, a little harsher, a little more alien, more furrow to the brow and glower to the mouth. Just -- just _something_ about the way the professor was holding his pen today screamed _bad fucking mood_ , and as sexy as it was at a distance, Lance knew better than to actually try anything too outrageous. 

Still, Lance felt compelled to go and bother him. But like, in a nice way. After all, just because his crush was having a bad day didn’t suddenly make Lance want to avoid him. Kind of the opposite, actually.

It probably wasn’t a good idea, though. Lance could be, uh, _a lot_.

Shay was clutching the decaf carafe protectively, even as she muttered, “He _always_ looks that way. I just don’t get how can you tell.” which might have been a little rich coming from her because Lance bet plenty of people thought the same about her granite features, but hey, Lance wasn’t judging.

Much.

He just shrugged, and said, “What kind of coffee did he order?”

Shay hesitated, then she said, “Actually... he ordered tea, today. And then he changed his mind and ordered his regular. It was, uh. Odd.”

Lance nodded, and twisted his stool so that it went back and forth, back and forth, squeaking a little beneath his weight. He was still watching Kolivan, and in the back of his head he realized that hey, he should probably look away, because he was being really fucking blatant, but --

 _Weekiversary_.

Also, seriously, pissed off Kolivan was a whole new level of hot and even if Lance wasn’t actively going to try and tap that he could happily spend some time _imagining_ it, all that snarl and coiled power and massive, powerful frame, maybe caging him in, holding him down right where he wanted, all-consuming and ferocious, he --

Lance’s breath hitched. He crossed his legs, then readjusted and crossed them the other way around. Then he spun on his stool so that he faced the counter, cleared his throat, and told Shay, “So hey, scones. Scones are great. Think I could have some scones, maybe?”

* * *

Half an hour later Lance had finished his scones and Kolivan looked just as pissed off. No, wait, scratch that -- the professor actually looked _more_ pissed off. Lance was kind of worried he was going to snap his pen in half and he was also pretty certain that Kolivan hadn’t written a new word into his puzzle in the last ten minutes and just... something about the way he was sitting there led Lance to believe it wasn’t because he was stuck on a word.

And, just -- 

Okay. Enough of this. Lance was only _so strong_ , damn it.

“Shay,” Lance said, voice kind of far away. “Can I have some more scones?”

“You realize,” responded Shay, “that your sister is going to murder you when she sees the kind of tab you’ve built up today.”

Lance shrugged. “It’s my weekiversary, dude, she can deal.”

To her credit, Shay didn’t even blink at that. She just piled a few scones on a plate and while she was distracted Lance sidled down to the far end and snagged the carafe of decaf where she’d left it undefended. “Thanks!” he said, all bright, blinding smile and winking blue eye as he whisked away the plate of scones and coffee and headed right for the blue thundercloud in the corner.

“Laaaance,” Shay wailed, dismal.

Lance was chuckling a little by the time he got to Kolivan, and it was -- it was odd, kind of, how much calmer he felt approaching than usual. Probably it had to do with the fact that Kolivan was obviously in a bad mood, and that just put Lance on the offensive as far as trying to make him feel better went. This wasn’t about Lance, it was about Kolivan and trying to make him feel better. That was just a thing that Lance _had to do_ , and he was usually pretty good at it, so the wild attraction he felt sort of had to take a back seat to the more pertinent mission of making Kolivan’s mouth do that little corner twitch of amusement.

 _Uh oh_ , said Hunk’s voice in the back of Lance’s head. _Making him smile is more important than thinking about getting him into bed? You’re in trouble!_

Which -- probably true.

But, also -- Lance was pretty okay with it. He had spent four months perving on the professor from a distance, after all. This was probably healthy. Hell, maybe this was the start to a _real_ relationship, one founded on communication and kindness and looking out for each other and the desire to ease bad moods, and --

“Lance,” Kolivan growled, which was Lance’s first hint that maybe, _maybe_ , he should pay closer attention instead of just standing next to the spare chair at Kolivan’s table with a carafe and plate of scones in his hands and zone out for two minutes while staring at one of Kolivan’s really fucking fluffy ears.

Oops.

“Hi,” said Lance. “You hungry?”

Kolivan’s eyes were narrowed, molten slits of gold. “No,” he said, voice still thick and rumbling with a growl that Lance was pretty certain came from way down deep in that big chest. He tried not to shiver, but damn. _Damn_ , that was a delicious sound.

“C’mooon,” Lance tried, wheedling in as quiet and unobtrusive a way as he knew how, which probably wasn’t much by the way Kolivan twitched. Careful, Lance set the platter of scones down on the table, but there wasn’t much room so it wound up clattering awkwardly onto Kolivan’s newspaper. “Oops,” said Lance, “sorry, but, I mean... You haven’t really been working on it, have you? What’s up, dude, you seem --”

“Do not,” Kolivan grit out, “call me _dude_.”

“Uh,” said Lance. “O... Okay. Sure thing, professor. Do you need --”

Lance was about to ask Kolivan if he needed a refill, but he meant it in the way that if Kolivan _did_ need a refill, then Lance would be happy to take his mug over and get him one. But he did lift the decaf carafe and maybe that was kind of threatening, because Kolivan moved way too quickly for comfort and had one big blue hand gripping the top of his mug, the knuckles all standing out in relief and looking violently powerful against the cheap white ceramic.

“If you ruin my coffee with that swill,” Kolivan snarled, very, very quietly, but also so incredibly intensely that all the little hairs on the back of Lance’s neck stood up, “I will _not_ be held accountable for my vengeance.” 

Startled, Lance couldn’t find his voice for a good, solid minute, before he finally managed to choke out, “Uhhh, like what?”

And then, somehow, Kolivan actually fucking said, “Perhaps I shall take you over my knee and spank you like the child you so obviously _are_.”

Lance blinked, breath stuttering to a slow stop.

Wait.

What?

Slowly, the words really and truly sunk in, and Lance’s eyes had to be as big as the plate with the scones on it because he could feel the cold dry air of the coffee shop stinging against them since Lance was also _not blinking_ , mostly because his entire system might have just shut down, because --

“WHAT,” Lance barked, all sorts of uncertain and offended because that, _that_ , had not been a nice thing to say, fucking _at all_ , and it had not been hot or kinky, either, not with that tone of voice and the way he had said it, no, not with _like the child you are_ and that nasty flatness to his mouth, and just.

Nope.

Lance was flushed, probably a bright red with indignation and embarrassment and a little bit of hurt feelings because dude. What even. What the _fuck_ even! He said, all airy and a little shrill and sort of sharp, flailing the hand with the carafe in it in the air dangerously, “Eat the scones, _dude_. Sorry for bothering you. I’ll just --”

And, aw hell.

There went the first flush of righteous anger and here came the awkward shame of having pushed someone to the point of no return, _again_. God damn it.

Lance cleared his throat, shifted once, and muttered, “Yeah, okay, I’m just, uh. Gonna go, then,” and then he did just that and got the fuck out of there, leaving the carafe on the corner of the counter near where Shay was working as he went. Then he was out the door with the little chime announcing his cowardly retreat and fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

“Well,” Lance told the artificial sun, bright and blinding overhead. “That sucked.”

* * *

“He sounds like a jerk,” said Hunk, entirely stubborn.

Lance sighed for maybe the millionth time since Hunk had accepted his vid chat, once more attempting to become one with the couch cushions. Veronica _still_ wasn’t back from that so called _study session_ , despite the fact that the station was well and truly into its night cycle. He said, “Usually he isn’t, but I will admit that today he didn’t sound like anything _but_ a jerk. A hot, sexy jerk with a growl like sin, but a jerk nonetheless.”

“Well,” Hunk consoled him, “good riddance.”

“Uh,” said Lance, tilting the screen and peering suspiciously at Hunk.

Hunk waved his hands, which was a little dizzying considering he was holding his own tablet in one of them and it made the camera swing about wildly. His voice came through pretty clearly, though, claiming, “Well, you can’t date him _now_. Not when he was a jerk!”

“Hunk, buddy,” said Lance. “Mi acere, _listen_. Relationships aren’t all happy and sunshine, right? Sometimes you fight --”

“You’re making excuses!”

“He was having a bad day,” Lance tried, feeling a little helpless because he didn’t _like_ that he was defending him, because mostly Lance just wanted to be miserable and annoyed about the whole thing, but --

That was a thing that happened, right? People got into fights. It wasn’t as though Lance had never fought with anyone in his family, let alone with Pidge or Hunk. It was a thing that people _did_. They had bad days and sometimes they took it out on poor, unsuspecting Lance, who just wanted to innocently turn that frown upside down because a face as beautiful and blue as Kolivan’s shouldn’t look like he hated everything in it.

That was just sad.

And, okay, _look_. Lance had just... really, really wanted to be special enough to be the person who could encroach on Kolivan’s territory even in a mood like that and somehow get away with it. Lance got away with a lot of things, but he’d never had _that_ privilege before. And he -- he _wanted_ it.

God, what had it been that Veronica said? Lance always wanted the _unattainable_ things.

For a very little, premature while, apparently, Lance had thought -- _maybe_ \-- that this time it was attainable. He didn’t _think_ he’d made up their connection, that spark that seemed to be mutually felt even if no one else could see it.

...Shit, okay, that sounded kind of bad, actually. Maybe Lance _had_ been making it all up?

“Uggghhhh,” groaned Lance, digging his head back into the cushions so far that they sort of ballooned out and swallowed parts of his face. He told Hunk, “It just sucked, okay? It _sucked_. I thought... I dunno, it was dumb. You’re right, Hunk. Good riddance.”

His mouth twisted even as he said those words, like the lie in them was too sour a taste to not curdle on his tongue, to sting his lips. Hunk must have seen it, because when he spoke next he was real quiet, but sincere. “Lance, man. Did you... I don’t want to upset you more, but I don’t want you to get hurt either, okay? Just. About what he said, uhm --”

“Just spit it out,” mourned Lance.

“It’s just, I know you’ve established that he’s not too old for _you_ , right? But what about, uh. What if he...”

_like the child you so obviously are_

Yeah, Lance had wondered about that, too. He grimaced and said, “Buddy, I think I’m... I think I’m done thinking about this one for tonight, yeah? I’m gonna call it. Ronnie ought to be home any time, and I just. I don’t want to get into it with her. I wanna sleep, and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Okay,” said Hunk. “Do you want me to make you some cupcakes tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said Lance, even though he wouldn’t be there to eat them. “Then give them to my niece and nephew and let them run amok, please. Send me photos. It will warm my poor, frozen, _dead heart_.”

“Oh, my gooddd,” whined Hunk. “How am I supposed to end the transmission when you say things like that, Lance?!”

Lance lifted his head up just enough to give Hunk the most extreme pout that he could muster. He said, “Don’t worry, my dude. If my heart was actually dead it wouldn’t hurt this much. I’ll text you in the morning.”

And, really. That was kind of true.

The ache in his heart was dumb, because Lance was dumb, and it wasn’t like it had _actually_ been his and Kolivan’s weekiversary. They weren’t dating. They had barely spoken. They didn’t even _know_ each other, not really. There was nothing to be sad about, it was just a thing that had happened, and it didn’t matter that apparently Kolivan thought Lance was a child who needed to be reprimanded, it --

Fuck.

Just -- fuck it.

Lance would deal with it in the morning.

* * *

Morning came and Lance refused to get off the couch. “The hell is wrong with you?” Veronica asked, to which Lance just grumbled, face buried between a cushion and a pillow, and held up the middle finger in what might have been her general direction.

“Fine, then,” she said, and slapped his ass in passing out of revenge.

But the apartment proved to be too quiet and too lonely and too much of nothing to distract him from the memory of what had happened with Kolivan just yesterday. God, fuck, what was Lance even doing? Hiding out in his sister’s apartment on a space station galaxies away from where he was meant to be, too embarrassed and soft skinned to face the world?

...Yep, that summed it up just about right.

By mid-morning, though, Lance couldn’t do it. He just -- couldn’t. Couldn’t stand to stay in there and wallow in misery, so he got up and threw on a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt that had something on the front but which was faded too much to be able to tell what it could have been originally. Comfort clothes, and his hair was a mess, and fuck it, man, _fuck it_ , Lance didn’t care, not at all. He slapped his sunglasses on and slid on his sneakers and grabbed his wallet and went out the door.

He headed for the coffee shop.

Because it was Thursday, or maybe he would have wallowed longer or gone somewhere else for a change of pace. But Thursday meant it was his last chance to see Kolivan before Monday, because the Galra never showed up at the coffee shop on Friday or the weekend. Probably he had classes or meetings or office hours at the college the days he did come in, or something. Maybe Kolivan lived far away and that was why he never went home during his breaks and why he never showed up when he wasn’t due at the college, or whatever.

Possibly Lance had spent too long thinking about this. _Shit_. His stalker tendencies were being upgraded, here. He was gaining street cred, leveling up, going to go full psycho if he didn’t watch himself at this rate.

But, seriously -- fuck it.

Lance wasn’t going to let Kolivan know he had scared him off. That was _Lance’s_ deal, he was the one who usually scared people off and maybe he had, actually, and that was why Kolivan had snapped at him like that. Why Kolivan considered him a _child_ , apparently, but fuck if Lance was going to give him the satisfa --

Oh, fuck.

“Uh,” said Lance, swaying on his feet and wishing, suddenly, with every desperate atom of his being, that he had at least hopped in the shower before leaving the sanctity of Ronnie’s apartment. Fuck, he hoped he didn’t smell like despair. “H-hey. Fancy meeting you -- uh. On this street corner. Just down from the coffee shop. Hi.”

Kolivan took in a deep breath, staring at Lance with wide eyes. 

The professor had come over from the street perpendicular to the one Lance had taken -- the way that led to the college, so Lance was probably right about where he came from every day, at least. Somehow they’d nearly collided, and that split second glance they’d given each other to avoid it had frozen them both right where they were, like weird plants suddenly rooted to the concrete.

“Lance,” said Kolivan, voice all tidy and tucked away and entirely free of snarl.

Yeah...

 _This_ was going to be awkward.

Lance made a super vague, kind of aborted gesture toward where the coffee shop was waiting just half a block down. Kolivan gave a little sharp jerk of his head in acknowledgment, and almost as a unit they shuffled their feet and took a few hesitant steps until they were walking more or less side by side down the street toward their mutual destination. It was... definitely awkward. Also, kind of weirdly timid? Even their steps felt as though they were placed gingerly, afraid of treading wrong.

Wow. Just -- _wow_. Lance should, uh, really work on his situational awareness. No impressive internal monologue was worth being caught this stupidly unaware, especially not if it was going to result in a circumstance this painfully stilted, hoooly crow. God, wait, had he even -- ?

Nooo, Lance had maybe forgotten to put on deodorant, _shit_ fuck.

Clearing his throat for lack of anything better to do but a towering urge to do _something_ , Lance glanced at Kolivan out of the corner of his eye and then gave a short, sharp sigh.

Fuck, the professor was still so stupid beautiful, how the hell was this even fair?

And then, all at once and seemingly out of nowhere, Lance _finally_ put fucking two and two together. “Holy shit,” he said, and stopped walking. Kolivan stopped with him, all tense angles and upright spine but none of the almost hunted, feral quality of the day before, where he’d looked so squeezed tight he’d been liable to explode, tension in every inch of him because --

“You had a _migraine_ , didn’t you?” Lance blurted, waving his hands in the air. “Holy crow, was that -- what the hell were you doing at the shop? You should have been home, or hiding in a closet somewhere with the lights off, you shouldn’t have --”

“Lance,” Kolivan said, all strained and creaking, and it was enough to make Lance stop burbling words in a hurry. “I -- yes, I did. But that is no excuse for -- for the manner in which I spoke to you. It was entirely uncalled for. You were actually being incredibly kind and I was -- I was _incredibly_ inappropriate.”

Oh, hey, what now?

Was he -- was he _apologizing_? That was what was happening right now, right? This was a thing that was really and actually happening -- Kolivan apologizing to Lance. Someone _other than him_ admitting to having said a stupid thing that they shouldn’t have.

Whoa.

Then, Kolivan took a deep breath, deep enough that Lance got to watch those powerful, muscled shoulders rise and fall within his second sexiest blazer, dark blue with the really cool texture and the pale gray elbow patches -- fuck, honestly, Lance was going to start getting a boner just _thinking_ the words elbow patch if Kolivan didn’t stop wearing them sometime soon -- and just, yeah, that was, uh. 

That was nice. Ten out of ten, would watch again.

So far, this whole venturing out and refusing to be cowed by crippling embarrassment and disappointment was actually working in Lance’s favor, which -- _surreal_. But also incredibly gratifying.

Except...

Lance kicked a little at a crack in the pavement, and then they both shifted to the side of the sidewalk for a group of students, one of whom waved hesitantly at Kolivan with a look of terror on her face when he nodded gravely back, and Lance had the honor of watching Kolivan’s cheeks suddenly flush a subtle, deeper shade of blue as he realized that it was entirely possible the students had heard his stumbling, a little less than graceful apology, because they were doing this in _public_ right now.

Kolivan added, a little quieter, “I _am_ sorry, Lance.”

God, Kolivan even had his hands tucked behind his back like he was at attention, ready to be reprimanded for what he’d done. Sincerity just, like, fucking dripped off of him and it was a little delicious, the fact that Lance was apparently worth an apology of this caliber, it was -- it was great. 

It felt special. _Lance_ felt special.

 _Except_ , Lance had felt special before just to be summarily dumped, or told that he was imagining things and just, yeah. Lance wanted to trust it but also felt entirely incapable of actually doing so.

“Oh, that, yeah,” said Lance, and found that he couldn’t look directly at Kolivan in case he had to see the reality of rejection there in his gorgeous summer gold eyes. “Heyy, it’s okay. I mean, like. Yeah, that was shitty, dude. But I get it. You were in pain, and having a bad day, and you said something, uh -- something you regret, I guess. It’s cool.” Lance swallowed, and then forced himself to just get it out already, saying, in this voice he really did not like, that sounded like him but not a him he particularly wanted to be, “though, uh. _like the child i so obviously am_ , huh?”

“I do not -- I -- I did not _mean_ that, not like --”

Oh, hey, look at that. The professor was practically stuttering. 

Lance snuck a peek at him and was gratified to see that he looked very close to miserable, maybe, and _maybe_ if Lance was very, incredibly lucky, one of these days Lance would get a chance to find an expression that _didn’t_ look damned sexy on Kolivan’s face, but today was not that day, apparently.

“Hmm?” Lance prompted, not quite willing to make this any easier than he had already.

Kolivan said, “-- not like how it sounded,” a little helplessly, and then added with more conviction, “You are obviously _not_ a child, Lance.”

Cool.

Super cool, so cool, really cool, but uh --

“You know I’m only, like, twenty-one, right? That’s still pretty young even by human standards, and you’re... well. Not human,” Lance pointed out, unable to keep from pushing. It was like picking at a scab or poking at a loose tooth, maybe. No, not quite. Maybe more like testing the limits to know precisely how much rope you had to hang yourself with?

Fuck, that was morbid.

“If you were a Galra,” Kolivan said, voice grave and solemn, deep and certain, “then at twenty-one Earth years of age you would only be around this height.” He brought one arm forward, bending a little at the waist to hold his hand out flat near mid-thigh, illustrating. “And your critical thinking skills would still be subpar to those of an adult. Yes, for a Galra, twenty-one years _is_ a child, but you are not a Galra. You are human, and you are grown.”

Lance pressed his tongue to the corner of his mouth, staring at that hand, the delicate claws and the steadiness there, nearly as steady as that warm, low voice.

Kolivan, speaking more than Lance had ever heard him say in the entire previous week combined, just kept going, “There is little point in comparing our literal ages to one another, Lance, as they cannot be compared adequately. You are an adult -- young, yes, but an adult nonetheless. I do _not_ consider you a child, by any means. I never have.”

“Never?” Lance asked, a little faint with hope.

Kolivan made a humming sound, straightening back up, and Lance couldn’t resist looking him straight in the eyes, this time, needing to -- _yes_ , needing _that_ , to see the shape of Kolivan’s eyes narrowed in what Lance was nearly certain was affection or something similar, all bright and fond and pretty, his cute fucking nose crinkling just a bit and his wide mouth tilting just a little, uncertain of its welcome but still slanting upward.

“Well,” he said, a little drily. “I never said you didn’t _act_ childish, sometimes.”

“Oooh,” said Lance, grinning back. “Low blow, big man. Aren’t you meant to be groveling?”

One of Kolivan’s brow ridges arched up just a little, a sharp red jut above his left eye. “Groveling?” he said, entirely skeptical.

“Mm. You know, the whole shebang. On your knees, begging me for -- ohhh, fuck.”

Shit, but Kolivan could really fucking _emote_ without changing his face much at all, couldn’t he? Because holy shit -- _holy shit_ \-- if that wasn’t a look that smoldered right up and down Lance’s spine, twisting in his belly and _lower_ , fuck, fuck, they --

Ohh, they were still totally in public, here. Abort, abort!

“On my knees?” Kolivan asked, and Lance tried to remember how to breathe. Tried to remember that literally ten minutes ago he had been miserable and pissed and feeling super sorry for himself, and that he was _still_ in his ugly, comfy clothes, looking like a mess and probably stinking of stale despair, and just --

“Hagnfaf,” he managed, sort of.

Then Kolivan _fucking said_ , “Perhaps another time. I fear the concrete would not be comfortable for such... purposes,” in an almost jaunty ass tone, what even. _What even_.

“Haaa,” said Lance, reaching desperately for something -- _anything_ \-- to get him out of this unholy mess. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was something _else_ a little bit naughty, but fuck it, he’d take it. Lance smirked a little shakily and crossed his arms and tilted his head back at a saucy angle, glad of the shades when the sun shone down brightly on him, and teased, “Sure, sure. So, what? Are you telling me that yesterday -- the whole spanking thing -- I mean, if you don’t think I’m a child, then was that just some kinky sex fantasy of yours, professor?”

And, _oh_.

Ohhh, fuck yeah.

 _That_ was a blush. Kolivan snapped tightly upright, all stiff and startled, and started back pedaling, _literally_. One big hand reached out to grope at the coffee shop’s door while Lance just followed casually along, trying not to grin too wickedly at the way Kolivan’s cheeks flushed an even deeper smokey blue.

Now _this_ was fun.

“Professor,” Lance breathed, brows high enough to be seen at a mocking angle above his sunglasses. “You _dirty_ old man, really. _Spanking_ \--”

“I can’t stay,” Kolivan said, practically flinging himself through the front door. “I’m running late, actually, I have to go --”

“Wait, wait!” Lance called out, right on his heels and laughing, now. “No, seriously, professor, am I onto something here? Do you _like_ to --”

With a little growl, Kolivan spun on his heel and leaned in, close, fuck, oh god, so fucking close, looming down over Lance, and Lance, who had started to get used to Kolivan’s height, felt all over again exactly how _tall_ and _big_ the Galra was, broad and powerful and blocking out the whole world when he caged Lance in like that, close enough that the heat of his body seared Lance’s skin even through clothing.

“Ahh,” said Lance, going still and desperate all at once.

Voice very, very low, and made of some sort of darkly simmering, growling husk, Kolivan said for Lance’s ears, only: “If you keep testing me then perhaps you will _find out_ , Lance. Now. _Behave_.”

Then he leaned back, and gave Lance one of those _looks_ , too, and Lance might have whined very faintly in the back of his throat because fuck, _fuck_ , he could not even _breathe_ , okay, and the look of dark satisfaction that stole briefly over Kolivan’s stern face only made Lance flush _hotter_ , and --

“Heeey, professor,” called Veronica. “Do I need to take him out back and shoot him? Not causing trouble is he?”

“No,” Kolivan said, straightening and taking a firm step back. But the look he kept on Lance was still all heat and prickling satisfaction, dare and tease at once, as he added, “Lance is behaving admirably, of course.”

“Of course,” Lance wheezed. “I am -- the picture of decorum.”

Veronica snorted, and then went to get Kolivan’s order, and Kolivan said, smooth and polite, “To go, please, Ms McClain.” and Lance forced his unsteady legs to carry him to the nearest stool -- not even _his_ stool, sweet fuck jesus shit god _damn_ \-- so that he could collapse against it, blinking blankly at the shiny counter top and just -- just trying to remember what it felt like to breathe?

Then Kolivan said, right behind him, “Have a good day, Lance.”

Lance said back, “I’mma have day awesome?” and couldn’t even gather the wits to defend himself as Shay asked, “Is he, uh. Broken?” and Veronica scoffed, replying, “He came that way, don’t worry about it,” because, uh.

Yeah.

Kolivan _definitely_ didn’t think of him as a child, now did he?

Holy shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: koli is a shit and threatens lance with spanking but in the sense of corporeal punishment, like a child acting out -- for lance, this is not a sexy thing, and it was spoken out of anger/frustration, without any consensual discussion beforehand. if this is not something you can stand to read, skip to the end of the scene once lance starts talking to koli for the first time. it comes up again throughout the rest of the ch, but not as an active threat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need you all to understand that, despite my lack of response, without your comments and support this fic would have been abandoned long ago. i get super shy and weird about responding to comments on here but please don't think that i am ungrateful for them, they have meant the world to me and are the reason i'm still trying to finish this story <3
> 
> secondly, this chapter really did kick my butt mostly because i had some issues trying to figure out plot and pacing. i had to sort of surrender to this, and honestly i have no idea if i rewrote it into the ground or not, but i hope you like it. oh! and this is going to become a series just in case i post any pwps or side stories in this verse later on <3 
> 
> and now: pls prepare for some really panicked internal rambling from lance, italics abuse, and some decently lewd consideration of kolivan's possible dick LOVE YOU ALL THANK YOU FOR READING

There was absolutely no way of telling how much time had passed since Kolivan had left -- because Lance was, in all honestly, too bewildered to function and thus could not be expected to check the massive clock on the wall _right in front of him_ \-- but eventually Veronica couldn’t resist poking at him. “ _Laaaaance_ ,” came her voice in a distinctly unnerving and predatory sing-song fashion. “Lancey Laaaance! Helllooooo! Little brother of mine, are you in there?”

Technically, yes. Lance was still inhabiting his body.

At least, he was pretty certain he was. Mostly certain. He could vaguely feel the _rap tap tap_ of Veronica’s not-very-gentle knuckles against his temple like she was knocking on a door to see if anyone was in. He might also have been listing a little to the side on his stool, but the whole universe was upside down by that point, so Lance couldn’t be bothered trying to keep his seat.

Because seriously -- _holy shit_.

Just.

Holy _fucking_ shit.

Worried, Shay murmured from somewhere outside the line of Lance’s dazed and blurred out field of vision, “Are you sure he’s all right, Veronica? I can call the emergency number if he needs to go to the hospital!”

Lance attempted to reassure her. 

“Hgraaf,” was what he said, when what he meant to say was more along the lines of _Only if it’s the loooove hospital, baby!_ complete with finger guns. Close enough, he supposed.

“Nah, he’ll recover. His mind is just blown, I know the signs. Don’t mind him and enjoy the reprieve, Shay!” Because Veronica was evil, she decided to take advantage of Lance’s preoccupation to ruck up his slightly greasy hair into a faux-hawk. Lance twitched, but otherwise chose not to engage.

Then Veronica said, “Oooh! I have an idea!” and stopped fucking up Lance’s hair.

Which -- _danger, danger! red alert!_ \-- was a horrible thing to hear uttered because Veronica having an idea almost always meant that she was actually having a _bad_ idea -- or a dangerous one, depending on who the intended victim was. In this case, Lance was almost positive that it was him. He was defenseless, after all, because yes, actually, Ronnie was right.

_Lance’s mind was indeed blown._

Because had that -- had that really -- ?

Okay, yes. It had happened. It had definitely and without a shadow of a doubt _happened_. And the thing of it, all right, was that Lance was -- uh. He didn’t know, actually? Like, yeah, turned on, sure, but also kind of -- frightened? Was that what he was feeling? Part of it? A wavering, wild, high-pitched tremor running right through the core of him that had his chest sort of tight and his shoulders kind of tense and --

Why the _hell_ was he feeling _scared?_

Lance blinked down at his hands, frowning, and just tried to wrap his mind around this newest occurrence. This _oddity of self_ that was happening, here. It wasn’t easy, though, especially considering the whole _sexy beyond belief_ thing had come right on the heels of an incredibly awkward confrontation after Lance had been _really miserable and upset_ with the guy, and just...

Whiplash, okay, Lance was going to get whiplash. Or currently had whiplash?

Fuck.

Just -- 

His brain hurt, his balls hurt, and his _heart_ fucking hurt, and Lance was having just a _little_ trouble dealing with Kolivan delivering a filthy, _filthy_ suggestion in a tone of voice that could probably talk Lance right on into orgasm if he let it, and a look from those heavy-lidded yellow eyes like -- like -- 

_Fuck_.

But Lance had felt naked under that gaze.

He shivered, though that might also have been because the air had just kicked on, and Lance was sitting beneath a vent and had just gotten blasted by a bunch of really fucking _cold_ air, and -- all right, Lance could be real. It was definitely from the memory of the way Kolivan had looked at him. Shiver-inducing without a doubt.

Because that look had been like a touch; something tangible. It had burned right through him, entirely too intimate, right on down inside where it twisted him all up, strange and wanting and shaking with nerves, because Lance didn’t actually know how to do this? The part where someone he really, _really_ wanted might possibly want him back?

Like, okay, there had been those times recently in college --

“Veronica,” Shay whined on the edge of Lance’s awareness, but hey, he was on a _roll_ here, and not about to stop this train of thought, nope, full steam ahead even if Shay’s voice _did_ waver up to a worrisome degree as she gasped, “Wait! -- what are you doing with that marker?!”

\-- where Lance had gotten lucky. But that was, uh. Complicated, really. In a way he hadn’t wanted to explain to Veronica, or even Hunk no matter how many cupcakes the man made for him. Because Lance had only managed to become a notch in someone’s bed post by acting like it didn’t matter to him that his heart might be breaking -- that he didn’t have hopeless crushes or wild dreams of whirlwind dorm romances or --

The point, here, was that Lance had _fought_ himself at college, pretended to be someone that he wasn’t, not really. Someone cool and unattached and undaunted and okay with being left behind in the morning.

And he didn’t regret it. He _didn’t_ , but it _had_ been exhausting, and kind of hurtful, and a struggle to try and keep himself contained enough not to scare anyone off before he had even the slightest, bare glimmer of a chance, and, well --

Veronica hollered, much too close: “SHAY, LET ME GO. THIS WILL BE FUNNY, I PROMISE!”

\-- usually that chance never quite made it within Lance’s grasp, all right? So what, plenty of fish in the sea and aliens in the universe, yadda yadda, _bullshit_ \-- Lance was _tired_ of fucking it all up. 

Maybe that was the thing? 

Because it bothered him -- a lot.

Like, _a lot_ a lot. The whole recurring theme of his love life where it seemed as though if Lance _could_ fuck up then he was absolutely and irreversibly going to _fuck up_. By all rights he should be thrilled, now, that he _hadn’t_. Had really and honestly been certain that everything with Kolivan was probably over and to remain forever one-sided and _grossly_ miserable on Lance’s half, and now he was proven -- _vividly_ \-- incorrect on that hypothesis.

Surely Lance should be _rejoicing_.

Only, no. Because apparently there was a weird part of him that he had never encountered before that was entirely terrified that he _wouldn’t_ fuck this up? Was that what was going on here? Because, like, seriously --

Lance hadn’t scared Kolivan away, yet. 

Somehow, for some unforseen reason, Kolivan still seemed to respond _favorably_ to Lance. 

Seriously, what the hell was Lance supposed to _do_ with that?!

“Ronnie,” he finally whimpered, because all right, no _shit_ he was afraid, even if the reason seemed dumb as hell. He clutched at the edge of the counter in dramatic desperation, looking about wildly as he forced himself back to reality and social interactions and his usual modus operandi. He wailed, “How do I make someone fall in love with me?!” because maybe the key to getting over the crushing fear of failure here was to make certain that he _would not fail_.

“Hmmmm?” 

Lance finally locked target on Veronica a few feet away behind the counter, trapped within the massive gray arms of Shay. In her hand Veronica held a felt tip marker half a foot from Lance’s face, trembling in her grip as she strained to close the distance between permanent ink and Lance’s innocent, trusting face. She said, “I dunno. Shay, do you know? Hey. Hey, Lance, lean forward.”

“Oh, _hell_ no,” yelped Lance, throwing himself backward.

He landed hard enough on the floor that he actually skidded right on along for a few inches. “Ow,” he said. And also, “You fiend. How dare you take advantage of me in a time of great crisis and need! You --” 

The door chimed.

The door _fucking_ chimed, and just -- Lance’s whole entire body just seized right on up, heart pounding, sweat gathering at his hairline because _fuck_ , jesus shitting mother fucking _fuck_ , if that was the professor again -- because of _course_ it would be! -- then Lance was just gonna -- he was gonna -- !

“Uhm,” said Tari, one of the coffee shop’s regulars. He eyed Lance oddly but without any apparent surprise at Lance’s current state of horizontal sprawling. The coffee shop regulars were all getting to be very well trained in handling Lance’s antics, actually. It was kind of impressive.

“Hi, Tari,” Lance sighed, keyed up body deflating in absolute dejection because Tari was neither big, nor blue, though he was sort of beautiful in an avian kind of way. Just not _Kolivan_ levels of scowling, fluffy-eared beauty. 

“Are you all right?”

“ _Tari_ ,” chided Lance, rolling his head back on the floor so he could deliver a properly scornful look. “Do I _look_ all right to you?! Are _any_ of us all right? Ever?! Or are we all just existing in a perpetual state of flailing and impossible, crushing fear of failure, huh? Isn’t that --”

“Right, then,” said Tari, stepping neatly over Lance’s prone body. “I’ll have my regular, Shay, thanks.”

* * *

The coffee shop actually closed up surprisingly early. Surprising, Lance thought, because he knew another universal constant was that college students tended to be up at all hours of the night rushing to finish whatever assignments they’d left to fester. “You guys would make a killing being this near to the campus library,” Lance pointed out as closing time approached.

Veronica said, “Not my business. Also -- do not mention it again, because I do not know if these walls have ears, but if my boss suddenly starts keeping us open late I will _kill you while you sleep_ , because I _need_ that time to catch up on my own work!”

“Tsk,” said Lance. “Maybe if you didn’t play all those awful games --”

Veronica leaned an elbow on the counter and leveled a vicious look his way. “I know you were playing _Marmoru_ the other night, Lance. I saw the save file.”

“...Fine!” Lance relented, crossing his arms mulishly. “I did play it! But it’s just because I want to date the freaking Thunder Spirit and it won’t let me! She _bakes_ , Ronnie. She bakes and kicks ass and what the hell, man, why is her story-line so difficult to get to fall in line --”

“Ha!” sneered Veronica. “ _Ha!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t be so obsessed with it if you’d just _buy some decent games_ , Ronnie.”

Veronica rolled her eyes and threw a rag at him. “Shut it, miscreant. Now, pretend like you work here again and help me close up.”

“How about _no_.”

It was only about seven in the evening and the station controls were following the idea of summer to the letter -- rich, golden sunlight was still coming down, a deeper shade with the approach of night cycle. It splashed across the pavement outside in a riotous way that made Lance think of Kolivan’s bright eyes. He wanted to just lean against the counter and look longingly outside and sigh a lot, because it had been a long _fucking_ day, all right.

Like, just -- _holy shit_ , still, all right?

After Lance had nearly been attacked via felt-tipped marker, he’d turned his nose on his so-called sister and gone back home to shower and to, er -- _to contemplate the mysteries of the universe_ , which could, under extreme duress, admittedly be otherwise known as shamelessly jacking off to the memory of Kolivan’s heavy-lidded gaze and heated, growling suggestion, _whatever_ , Lance was not strong, all right, he had _needs_ \-- but about five minutes after he’d settled onto the couch clean and clothed in attire that did _not_ broadcast “DO NOT GIVE A FLYING FUCK TODAY” and made certain to _actually apply deodorant_ , he...

Well. He might have screamed into his pillow. A lot.

It was no wonder, then, that Lance had found his way in short order back to Shay and Veronica at the coffee shop, and proceeded to thoroughly distract himself from his turbulent emotions and questionable thoughts by people watching. It was even sort of fun, and when Shay had left at four and it had just been him and Veronica that hadn’t been so bad, either, because Veronica was a good sis and Lance had been pretty obviously _not okay_ earlier in the day, and just --

“I feed you,” Veronica sighed, heartfelt. “I clothe you, I house you --”

“Jesus, who are you? _Mom?_ ”

“-- I try and be a good sister to you. And what thanks do I get? Uh, _how about no?_ The utter disrespect! The _cruelty_ of it, even, I just can’t --”

“ _Ronnie_ ,” Lance complained, and contemplated tackling his sister and stuffing the rag in her mouth to get her to stop being ridiculous. It wasn’t like there were any customers, and even if Lance hadn’t actually physically tussled with his sis in _years_ , he was pretty certain he could take her. 

Maybe.

She fought kinda dirty, was the thing. 

Instead, he just said, “If I wanted to work I’d get a _job_ already,” like he didn’t, desperately, want to find a job he loved and would like to work at forever, _anything_ to make him feel less like a helpless waste of space mooching off of his loved ones and doomed to fail at being a functional adult forever.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed behind her lenses. Her head tilted as she considered him, and then she sweetened the pot: “If you help, I’ll buy that game you really want.”

“What," Lanced scoffed, narrowing his eyes right back, “You mean _Altean Assassins: Through the Vortex?_ ” 

“Sure,” said Veronica dismissively. “Yeah, sure. That one. Why not?”

“Pshaaaw. How about because this is the _eighth time you have tried to bribe me with that game, Ronnie?_ ”

“ _Maybe_ ,” she said, leaning threateningly over the counter that separated them. “If you stopped calling me _Ronnie_ \--”

“You are full of lies and false promises,” Lance pointed out, deftly navigating away from Veronica’s ire. “But I will do this thing you ask of me. Not because I actually think you will willingly make good on your blatant bribery, but because one day I hope you will forget that you mean to renege on the deal and actually slip up and _buy it for me_.”

Veronica rolled her eyes but leaned back, muttering, “With end of the semester coming up it just might happen. I think I’m going to have to forgo sleeping for the foreseeable future. Ugh, c’mon. Hurry it up, baby bro. We still have groceries to shop for.”

“Oh,” said Lance, deadpan. “What joy.”

* * *

They weren’t in the store five minutes before Veronica decreed, “I’m disowning you.”

“You can’t,” Lance pointed out, eyeing what appeared to be a pile of eggplant a peculiar dusky blue in color at the end of the aisle. He started to sidle closer to it, unable to resist. “You can’t disown me, sis. You aren’t my parental unit, you don’t really have that kind of power. Hey, do you think --”

“ _Fine_ ,” said Veronica, parking their cart aggressively next to what may have been actual Earth tomatoes. “Then I’m ditching you! I hope you suffocate beneath the display of _orchuk_.”

“The wha -- ?” Lance started to ask, but lessons on alien fruit and/or vegetables could wait, actually. Instead, he whined, “Whhhy are you ditching me? _Ronnie_ , I thought we were bonding, here! The McClain siblings out on an exciting grocery adventure, shopping at this fancy pants store that, sure, doesn’t even have _free samples out_ \--”

Veronica emerged with tomatoes in both fists. “It is not fancy! It’s just -- organic, and --”

“-- I feel like this is gross negligence!” Lance decided, and, having finally arrived at the suspect produce at the end of the aisle, prodded one of the shiny, bulbous vegetables with a curious finger and very nearly caused an avalanche. He stepped back, cocking his head and eyeing the tower of suggestive eggplant with consideration.

“As you pointed out, I don’t have that kind of power,” Veronica said dryly. “And it’s for my own benefit. I know that look, Lance. I know your brain. I know exactly where this is going to go --”

“Hey, do you think these are an accurate representation of alien dick?”

Veronica’s voice was a strangled howl of betrayal. “ _Damn it, Lance!_ ”

“Hm, is that a no?” Lance hummed, rocking on his heels as he ran his gaze back down the aisle. “So, what? Do you think these are too... Bulging at the tip? 'Cause I mean, it’s the right color, or what I _imagine_ would be the right color. Wait, which end do you think would be the tip? Do you think I should be looking at something longer or more, uh, varied? Like, what about --”

“ _No_ ,” said Veronica, almost squeezing a tomato right on to a pulpy demise. “Cease. Desist. Die in a garbage fire.”

Lance turned wide and wounded eyes on his sister, who was slowly turning a shade of outrage not dissimilar to the slightly squished tomato still clenched in her fist. It took a lot of effort not to start laughing at her, but Lance pulled through. He said, “ _What_ , you can’t possibly expect me not to go there, all right, _look at all this produce_. And also, inquiring minds, Veronica, they want to know!”

“My mind is _not inquiring_ , Lance! Leave me out of it!”

“Just, look --” Lance poked a pseudo eggplant, shiny and blue and terrifyingly large, “-- do you think, _maybe_ \--”

“Fuck this,” said Veronica.

Then she fled with the two tomatoes and the cart and whatever was left of her so-called dignity, leaving Lance in the produce section of the fancy pants alien grocery store with his arms crossed, frowning down at the varied selections, but the eggplant in particular. Because, okay, yes -- as much fun as fucking with his sister was, Lance really had been fantasizing about the professor with increasing, shameless detail, lately. 

There just, uh. Was a liiiittle problem? With the fact that Lance could never quite seem to conjure up those shameless details when it came to Kolivan’s, er, _crotch region_.

Sure, Lance could have looked up “ _hot galra beefcakes_ ” online, but that way lay potentially scarring results when he inevitably fell down the hole of bad amateur porn gifs and pics of dicks that just... _really_ had no right being seen by _anyone_ , okay, Lance’s eyeballs deserved better things than gross ass dick picks by sad assholes with an internet connection and no awareness of what people did and did not like to look at when masturbating.

Besides, Lance _liked_ surprises.

And it wasn’t as though he were picky -- maybe Galra didn’t even have dicks! Or they had, like, both sets of gendered genitalia? Hell, maybe there was even a _third_ option, it was entirely possible -- Lance had totally done it with an alien studying abroad just last semester whose sexual organ had been nothing more than a gelatinous sac and while it had started off sort of gross it had ended up _super fucking hot_ , all right, just --

The point was that Lance wasn’t about to say no to, well, anything, really.

It was just...

The vegetables were _right there_ , begging him to wonder.

Innocently, Lance surveyed the store around him, shifting nervously on his sneakers so that they squeaked a little on the tiled floor. Despite the fact that it was prime shopping time the produce section was fairly empty -- a mom with six kids hanging off her spare tentacles was at the other end of the aisle, and there was an employee sweeping up spilled berries two over, but that was about it. 

Lance could totally do this and not be too obviously creepy about it. 

Probably.

Allowing the soothing, familiar hum of shitty overhead lights, refrigeration, and the bad musical selections of grocery stores the universe over to steel his nerves, Lance turned back to the task at hand. 

Kolivan’s dick.

Right, _so_. Supposing that Kolivan _did_ have one -- and considering the uh, the _package_ Lance’s favorite alien tended to have on display in those sinfully, ridiculously tight pants, Lance would honestly be willing to bet all his spare change, the clothes on his back, and his personal autonomy that Kolivan did, in fact, have a dick -- then it would probably be massive just like the rest of him. 

The eggplant display had drawn Lance’s eye in the first place because of the color. Close enough to Kolivan’s smokey blue tones that Lance could almost envision his dick looking sort of like them, only -- too, uh, hm. 

Too _shiny_ , Lance decided, moving on.

A few displays down there was a heap of something that faintly resembled an Earth gourd. It was long and thick, with a protruding sort of knot toward the base and textured all over with smooth little bumps on the firm skin. Lance picked it up, eyes going wide.

Because, uh --

 _Wow_. Yeah, Lance hadn’t even _considered_ that.

Forget ribbed condoms. What if Galra junk came ribbed all on its own? Or like, this -- these little bumps, and just -- shit, _shit_ , what -- uh. 

Lance wondered for a moment, a little wildly, if anyone would mind if he just, like... licked the sort-of-gourd? Just to test it out! To see what that texture might be like under _his tongue_ , all right. It just. He needed to know, because he was shivering just at the thought and the feel of that texture moving beneath his thumb where he was gently sweeping the digit up and down along the substantial length.

Fuuuck, Lance really, _really_ needed to know.

For science!

And also for filthy, perverted, insatiable curiosity, because holy sweet mother of crow.

Licking his lips, Lance gazed wonderingly at the monstrous thing in his hand and murmured somewhat dazedly, “I don’t even have a _dildo_. This is like, worlds beyond what I think I can possibly take, oh my god. Would he even -- Would _I_ even -- uhhh.”

“ _Lance_ \--” said a voice from right the fuck behind him.

“SHIT,” Lance shrieked in reply, flailing and turning and succeeding in smacking his sneak attacker right in -- in uh --

Aw, hell.

\-- right on one of Kolivan’s massive biceps. Yep. Lance had just definitely been snuck up on by Kolivan fucking Marmora in the produce section of a grocery store and then Lance had gone and _hit him with an alien dildo_ \-- er, gourd. _Gourd_ , vegetable, _whatever_. The point here was that Lance had screamed and flailed and now he was staring at Kolivan with his mouth hanging open and his heart racing and his blood rising all at once to his face in a dizzying rush, because _oh my god_ , Lance just couldn’t catch a break, could he?

“ _Oh my god_ ,” he wheezed out, mostly for emphasis.

“-- that’s uhm, poisonous to humans,” Kolivan finished with a wince.

Lance continued right on wheezing, but also managed to say, “We have got to stop meeting like this, my dude. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

Because, _seriously_. How much embarrassment was too much, exactly? Like, really. Lance might need to know the answer to that question before he hit the limit and expired prematurely, okay. This was just getting ridiculous. Lance could _not_ handle the actual appearance of his idle sexual musings while Lance literally -- and _very suggestively_ \-- stroked an alien consumable all while muttering about size comparisons in regards to Kolivan’s theoretical dick.

Just -- _not acceptable_.

“Sorry,” Kolivan said, clearing his throat and looking firmly over Lance’s head and glaring somewhat murderously at the holographic sign flashing nauseating shades of green and orange overhead. “But -- you can’t use that. It’s, uh. Poisonous. To humans.”

“ _Use_ \--”

Kolivan swallowed. Noticeably. With his cheeks just faintly flushed, and yeah, okay, even traumatized Lance could recognize that it was definitely a good look on him, but what the hell? Lance craned his neck back and scowled defensively at the professor, readjusting his grip on the dildo -- _GOURD_ , he told himself frantically -- while trying to figure out why Kolivan was acting, uh...

Embarrassed?

Because it was definitely _Lance_ who should be embarrassed! He had -- 

_Oh_.

 _Fuck_.

Kolivan and his _fluffy fucking ears_. 

“Uhm,” Lance managed to squeak out, still clutching the _god damned gourd_. 

Kolivan had definitely heard him. Had _definitely_ and _absolutely_ heard Lance talking about dildos. Oh, sweet hell. Lance quickly dropped his mortified gaze to the tight grip Kolivan had on the handle of his cart, hovering innocently between them like a safety net, full of innocuous instant meals and also a whole _lot_ of snack foods, wow. 

Did Kolivan have a sweet tooth, maybe? Just how much sugar _did_ he put into his coffee?

Shaking himself, Lance flailed a little wildly, especially when he noticed that the tip of the gourd was still touching Kolivan on the bicep. Because it was, uh, a really big gourd. Like, two feet long. Like, _savagely big_.

And Kolivan had just heard Lance rambling about -- about _taking it_ , oh god.

“Nope,” said Lance, entirely desperate. “This is not -- this is _so not happening_. I don’t get to be this fucking embarrassed of myself not even a full day after being _really fucking pissed at you_ , no way. Not happening. Nu uh!” and then, with a yelp, “Wait -- _poisonous?_ ”

Cautious, Kolivan’s gaze dropped down to Lance’s. “Er -- yes.”

“To the -- the _touch?_ ”

Because Lance was still _holding it_ , actually, and he hadn’t noticed any weird reaction, but was that -- was that an itch? Was that a tingle in his palms? Oh, wow, thank fuck he hadn’t actually _licked_ the thing. 

“No,” said Kolivan, word slow and uncertain. “It -- no. I mean. You probably _could_ , if you really wanted. Especially with protection. I just thought --”

Lance hit him with the gourd again.

“Stop talking,” he begged. “I didn’t -- I just meant. I’m touching it with my bare hands _right now_ , Kolivan. That’s all I meant. Oh my _god_.”

Kolivan stared.

He stared down at the gourd poking his chest, and then he stared at Lance’s hand white-knuckled around it, and _then_ he stared somewhere around Lance’s chin or neck or _something_ , but it wasn’t Lance’s eyes, that was for sure. Then Kolivan said, “I think that’s the first time you’ve said my actual name,” in a slow murmur that was unexpectedly sweet.

“...Oh.” 

Lance blinked, and then he tapped the gourd gently against Kolivan’s chest, watching as it bounced off his stupidly impressive pec. Kolivan wasn’t in his blazer anymore. He was just in an illegally tight shirt and dark jeans with heavy combat boots, actually, and he looked tired and worn and his braid was a pretty little white curve about his thickly corded neck, and he just --

He was so, so fucking pretty.

Lance asked, “Is that -- okay?”

“Yes,” Kolivan said, and Lance tried not to feel too unbearably smug at the way he’d said it so quickly, so adamantly, but -- well. It was a nice feeling. 

Lance tapped Kolivan on the chest again, and Kolivan gave a playful little growl, reaching up to grab at the gourd and okay, _okay_ , apparently Kolivan recovered from embarrassment and upheaval a lot faster than Lance, because he also added, “And while I appreciate your generosity, you might be a _tad_ disappointed if this is what you are expecting from me.” before sliding his big, blue hand down the gourd way too sensually for Lance’s hormones to handle with any grace, and gently took it out of Lance’s suddenly lax fingers.

“Hnnng,” said Lance. “You don’t -- you don’t _say_. Would you -- uhm, would you care to point out, perhaps, what I _should_ be expecting --”

Gently, Kolivan said, “I think it’s a little early for that, all told. Perhaps we should, hm. Slow this down? Hello, Lance. It’s good to see you this evening.”

“Shit,” said Lance, staring miserably at the gourd now safely in Kolivan’s grip. It didn’t look quite so monstrous in the alien’s hand, but still -- how the hell was this Lance’s life? Seriously? “Sorry -- I didn’t, uh. Mean to, like, make things unbearably awkward between us, or anything. I don’t. I don’t want to, uh --”

_I don’t want to fuck this up._

Jesus, Lance couldn’t just say that. Surely saying it would be paramount to actually _doing_ it. Kolivan had just given him a graceful out and here Lance was, mucking it up, because he just couldn’t let things go, now could he? He just had to -- to fucking _wallow_ in it -- to roll about in his own stupid idiocy, all right, he had to get good and dirty and _fucked_ , and --

Okay, that train of thought was maybe gearing up to lead him back around to thoughts of Kolivan’s dick and dildos and how much Lance was starting to warm up to the idea of trying to see how many fingers he could stick up his ass in preparation which, like, _jumping the gun a little_. 

“ _Lance_ ,” Kolivan said, jolting Lance right out of his whirlwind thoughts.

“Yes, hi, hello,” said Lance, spreading his hands wide like a magician about to perform a trick. “I can totally do slow.”

Kolivan just made a quietly amused humming sound that clearly suggested Kolivan didn’t believe that even for a moment, and went to put the alien maybe-gourd away, tucked safely from Lance’s filthily suggestive hands and horrifyingly violating thoughts, back amongst its fellow gourd brethren. For a moment, Lance contemplated crawling on up into the display with it and hiding beneath them and just, like, staying there for all eternity.

“Is it a gourd?” Lance asked. “The poisonous to humans not-a-dildo thing. A gourd? Vegetable? Fruit loop?”

“Fruit loop?” Kolivan asked, now standing beside Lance and looking down at him, puzzled. 

“Earth cereal,” Lance explained, gazing hesitantly back. It was kind of curious. There was a good two feet of distance separating them and they were facing opposite directions. Something about it screamed metaphor, and something else about it screamed heart warming and endearing. Lance liked it, the way their bodies kept finding new ways to fit alongside each other, slowly but surely working towards a way to bridge the distance.

He said, “Super sugary old-school Earth cereal, actually. It’s amazing it’s still in production. But which you might actually _really_ like, professor, because -- that is a lot of snacks in your cart. Are you secretly a snack loving fiend? Why haven’t I ever seen you buy a pastry at the coffee shop?”

“I don’t --” Kolivan glanced back at his cart, craning his head, before blinking at it. “Ah,” he said. “No, that’s for the -- hm.”

“Hm?” Lance prompted.

Kolivan relented, slanting Lance a variation on that _behave yourself_ look Lance was so fond of. “If you will recall, I had the son of a friend staying with me. Matters have not, precisely, been resolved as of yet. To the point where she is going to be staying with me, along with her even younger son, and I -- well. I am attempting to prepare.”

“Oh,” said Lance.

And then -- _then_ \-- it got really fucking awkward. 

Or, maybe, that was just Lance _feeling_ really fucking awkward, because despite everything -- _literally everything_ that had happened in just that one day! -- Lance was suddenly worried that he was expecting too much. That this friend was actually more than a friend, or wanted to be more than a friend, that Kolivan would realize that Lance was too much and impossible and that the stately and esteemed professor of fucking _ancient warfare_ did not want to be chatting up the dude who was fondling alien produce and muttering in public about fucking _dildos_.

“That’s nice,” he managed to say.

Kolivan shifted next to him, and then Lance was stuttering on a breath and staring back up, wide eyed. He hadn’t even realized he’d looked away, actually. But Kolivan was close, now, that distance eaten up in one sleek step that had Kolivan angling his body into Lance’s space, nearly close enough to touch. 

Voice slightly strangled, Lance blurted, “Your cologne’s worn off.”

Kolivan’s lip twitched. “Yes,” he said, voice dry. “It does tend to do that.”

“Don’t worry,” Lance assured him, mouth running on auto-pilot with a course designed to _run him into the ground_ , apparently. “You still smell good. Great, even. I like the cologne, but this is fine, too. So, uh, your friend -- is she hot?”

Kolivan’s gaze narrowed, lip no longer twitching but very firmly settling into a smirk. “Yes, I suppose she is. Her husband certainly thinks so, though I’ve never found her quite to my tastes.” And then, in an almost thoughtful murmur, “And, before you panic, I suppose -- nor her husband, for that matter.”

“ _Panic_ ,” Lance spluttered, officially offended and secretly relieved. He laid a hand on his chest and wilted backward against the nearest produce display so he could properly give Kolivan one of his better wounded faces. “How _dare_ you misalign me in such a manner! I demand recompense!”

Kolivan’s smirk widened, and he said, playful, “What did you have in mind, Lance?”

“Oh, just you wait,” breathed Lance. “The possibilities -- they are _endless_ , my dear professor.”

The warm, low rumbling noise coming from Kolivan’s chest wasn’t a _laugh_ , not really. But it was pleased, and sort of put Lance in mind of a purr, and Lance’s hands twitched kind of helplessly with the desire to reach up and rub behind Kolivan’s fluffy fucking ears, okay, to see if he could give him an expression of lazy satisfaction to go along with that noise. 

Valiantly, Lance kept his hands to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> you can come yell at me on [tumblr](http://thelionshoarde.tumblr.com/) <3


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